Caged birds and crazy girls

Tempted to up the dosage on my pills. Will two cilif take the sadness away faster? Because I desperately need this feeling to stop. It's so frustrating not knowing why you're sad. I feel the threat of tears. The pressure builds painfully in my chest but it's as if the tears won't burst free until they have a reason. I need this release. I need the relief. So I wish I could just cry already. 

I understand why troubled girls cut themselves. I understand now that when you cut skin and the blood flows what a relief it must be. I'm not saying I would ..... But I do get it. 

I think I could scratch though. Scratch my skin broken and open to ease the itch. What itch? The itch of anxiety. The restlessness I can't calm, when my heart thumps and my stomach flutters and my skin crawls and my brain spins and I think I'm going to die from the craziness and I almost wish I would die in that moment just to stop the craziness. And I can't cry because the cry is stuck somewhere in my throat, so I scratch at my neck. Scratch hard at my naked shoulders. The clawing hurts but the pain is better than the itching. By far better than the itching. And when it hurts I forget for a second about the itch and the flutter and the thump. But only for a second because there again is the flutter and the thump and the itch and I want to die. 

No, not actually. But I would settle for a cry. 

Maya Angelou might have known "why the caged bird sings", but I know why the crazy girls cut.

Ever feel ..?

Ever feel that you're good 
As long as you give,
As long you never need? 

You always pour in so much 
Of yourself till you have 
Nothing left for yourself. 

Yet still, in struggling 
Not to fail, you feel 
Like a failure for stuggling.

Demons of the dark

Slumber? What's that? The hours between midnight and 4am are reserved for nightmares, migraines and insomnia.  Not sure how long it's been this way. Not sure how much longer I can cope. 

Finally around 4 or 5 in the morning, as the birds and traffic noises start, I usually slip into a heavy trance. The kind of coma that leaves you utterly exhausted when you wake. I know I need to get up. But my eyelids are painfully nailed shut. I cry for someone to help me shake off this suffocating sleep but my throat is parched and my tongue too tired to utter a sound. I feel I'm drowning in drowsiness. My brain registers remotely that I need to move but the lead in my limbs can't push off the hundreds of demons that sit on my chest, choking the breath from my body, forcing me back into the fog. 

The themes of bad dreams like vines around my wrists try piercing my veins. I feel the bed swallowing me whole, again. All the pressure, I feel I could explode. I fight. I fight. I fight. I try. I cry. Finally tears escape my stubborn eyes and dissolve whatever evil spell had them sealed shut against the morning light. 

But the fight has left me breathless, drained and ill. I'm supposed to rise and shine and charge into the day light and prove myself. 

Myself. I don't even know who I am. I'm a tired, hollow shell. A body with barely enough life in it to muster a smile for the sleeping angels, peacefully cured up in their beds. 

And that's why I fought like villain to escape the clutches of depression. Because these little babies need a mother. My little children need a smiling mom to help them get their day started with kisses and sweet whispers. 

Though my soul hangs heavily, limp inside my chest I must smile. Kisses and smiles. Kisses and smiles will help me make it through today, again. 

The things that keep me up at night - The Butterfly Effect

Have you ever watched the movie The Butterfly Effect? Such a beautiful name for such an awful movie. A frustrating and awful movie. 

I find myself thinking about that movie tonight because that's almost what life feels like these days. Like I'm watching a remake of a horror movie and I'm powerless to change the outcome. 

As hard as I've tried to rewrite the plot the ending remains out of my control. I feel as if I'm tied to a chair and forced to watch. Painfully restrained n forced to watched my worst fears play out in real life. 


Only it's way, way worse this time. Worse than when I lived through it. Because this time I'm filled with dread for my dear children. My babies. 


Oh the irony. My son and daughter. My Id and Ego, my Vladimir and Estragon.

I always say I see so much of myself in my son. The guilt kills me. All my anxiety, neurosis, my total lack of self esteem all passed on to this poor, undeserving boy. And my daughter. My innocent, loving little girl. So giving and caring. It's exactly that kindness that makes you vulnerable. 

What am I going to do?

I can't ignore what I see. I may not.  I can not. 

I can not risk my children. I will not risk my children. I have to protect them, at all cost. I'm not helpless. They are. They rely on me to protect them.

I have to be brave. I have to stand up and stop this movie. I will not let this evil plot continue. 

I Promise Pain

Not in a good space. Actually quite a mess. Trying to hold the pieces together in between the pages of my colouring book. My heart's frozen with fear. Fear of saying something and the disgusting mess it could cause. And fear of what could happen if I don't. The worst could happen. And that can't be allowed. I know first hand the damage that that causes. I still live with the ever lasting consequences. I'll never heal from this hate and never be free of the fear. 

I can barely contain the violence that boils beneath the surface. 

Not in a good space and screaming inside my head "you stupid fucking idiots". The overwhelming anger nauseates me.

Deep breaths. Painful deaths. That's what they will all suffer if I even begin to think she's in danger. Every single ignorant one of them. I will burn them all alive. I promise.