Flashback, journal, moments

Flashback: A letter to my brother

Dear Brother,

You had made all these cross-wired connections that were illogical in nature but made sense out of context. Like, I could understand what you were feeling but the why was so over the top that I couldn’t fully grasp.

However, in a position where I was so vulnerable, self-esteem so low it was drooling past the depths of hell, where the flashbacks were hitting me full force with their penetrative glares and living from day-to-day was becoming harder. Where I looked up to you so much and treasured and held true every word you said, I, for a minute, broke.

I broke down.

I cried. Wanting to kill myself. Believing the words you spoke – saying that I was selfish, that how dare I serve myself for a second instead of you, how dare I not sacrifice my wellbeing for your own, how dare I?
But, how dare you.

How dare you ask that of your little sister? No, of another human being, of any other person, to give up themselves so completely to serve your every whim and wish.

Especially when you treat them like the shit on your shoe, only to condescendingly pat them on the head for doing exactly what you feel you needed.

I, for months, despite everything you said, dismissed all those evils you committed onto me. I continued to believe that angels shone out of your arse, them being the ones blessed to touch you, that God worshiped you and Satan cowered in fear every time he heard your name. And, most importantly, that I was the one completely in the wrong. That everything that happened was my fault and only my fault when let’s be real here.

Let’s be real.

The more that I took the responsibility for the faults that happened on that day, the more I serve to negate from the fact that you are a flawed human being like the rest of us.

Because guess what? The sun does not shine to greet you every morning, nor does thunder and lightning boom and bend to your will. You are human. You deserve to take some fault of your own onto shoulders too proud to slump, onto the flattened circumference of your mind crushed away by your demons that you indulge yourself in. I’m just sick of it.

I’m sick of how you’re all too ready to announce to the world how you’ve had it harder than any mere mortal who has experienced pain or anguish. That you believe yourself bigger than what you are. More superior because you choose not to understand what others go through but instead enjoy swimming deep in a sea of your own self-pity.

It’s silly.

Can the idea that someone else may feel pain without you having to make it a competition exist? Because God knows that when I feel good and happy I don’t go comparing it and stopping myself because someone else may be happier than I.

I don’t make it a competition. I just feel happy. And have enough sense to respect other’s happiness, the same way you should respect other’s pain.

I wish you could just see the truth and grow up for once. Because it’s not grown up to give people the silent treatment, it’s not grown up to expect family to serve you unconditionally – love you unconditionally, yes, but not serve. And finally, it’s not grown up to push everyone in your life away just because they communicate with you they do not agree with the way you treat them.

Grow up.

Grow up before everyone that you still love grows up and away from you.

Yours truthfully,

Your excommunicated sister

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Flashback, journal, moments, Poetry

Flashback: My First Swear

pexels-photo-192560

Time stalls on the window sill

My tiny feet grips past the gloss, straight onto the flaking wood, face pressed onto the window, hands by my side

Laughter from the living room reminds me of their harsh words

Their intent to scare me, to remind me that I was no more than a common fool a success

Tears work its way down my cheeks

My warm breath dents the cold glass as a silhouette shaped like my chin and nose forms as the rain on the other side collect into droplets

 

Finally, I let the pain go and give room for anger to emerge

It wrestles my body into havoc as I begin to kick out against the window, punch away the fabric within the curtains and let my tongue boil out a single word

“Fuck”

I scream it

Then stop cold in my tracks

Did they hear?

Did they hear their 8 year old sister collapse into a word forbidden in this household

I wait

I listen

And nothing.

So I say it again

Nervous giggles jolting the words out in a quiet whisper

The word feeling oversized but good, easing away my anger

 

Better.

 

I feel better again.

Continue reading “Flashback: My First Swear”

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Moving out and everything in between

Hi guys, it has been quite a while since I’ve written a blog post which is so odd because I usually have so much to say in general. However, for quite a while I withdrew from everything and everyone and just didn’t feel like writing because I no longer had the energy for it.

I have been through a lot over the past few weeks. Perhaps not a lot relative to other people but a lot for me. I essentially fell out with my brother and because of that, I became suicidal all over again. Thankfully, my mum caught me before I did anything fatal and she gave me the option to take myself out of the situation and housesit for my grandmother for a day or two. It has now been about 5 weeks and I haven’t yet moved back in. And I don’t think I’m going to.

In fact, the only reason I go “home” is to have my daily showers and catch up with my sisters if I see them, but that’s it. I think I’m going to stay there for the entirety of the Summer and then go straight to university and never have to go “home” again.

And I know this all seems rediculous and so outrageously childish but I cannot continue to put myself in a situation that contantly triggers me to feel so suicidal.

I’m not saying that underlying issues have been resolved and me moving out has allieviated the pressure from any of them. However, the situation that puts me the most in danger of doing fatal harm to myself has been temporarily eliminated. And if that is the best I can do for right now, then I’m going to do it.

I’m so incredibly aware of how chunky and distorted this post is but I’m trying to just throw all of my thoughts out there before I chicken out from writing again.

Also, just so you know, I have reached out for support from a psychologist and that should start just before the end of my exams.

Listening to: Cold Arms by Mumford and Sons

Nakedstreetkid out xx

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A Traumatic Childhood Relived

The worst experience of my life was, and always will be, my childhood. Although, when people around me claim it was one of the best times of their life, I just nod along like a spineless chicken. You see, if I go against the flock on this one, people would always ask me why and I wouldn’t really know what to say.

How do I even begin to explain the level of emotional and physical abuse at the hand of my father from birth? How do I explain my older sister’s physical abuse against me? How do I explain I was isolated throughout this time by peers in school? How do I explain my very turbulent year of repeated sexual assault from a childhood friend?

The sad truth is: I can’t.

So, I nod along because there is nothing in me that wants to lay claim to these traumatic events. There is nothing in me that wants to relive them over and over and over again in my memory. I just can’t because I don’t want to.

So I paint over these painful memories with the colourful, happy and generic ones that all my other peers share. Because at the end of the day, all I’ve ever wanted was to fit in and left alone.

That is all I want.

Nakedstreetkid out xx

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Emotionally Charged and Logically Wasted

I’m going to give up writing casual blogs for now. It feels way too forced and I don’t enjoy what it does to my writing.

Not that I didn’t like it, because I did. I enjoyed sharing my thoughts like I do in my journal – quite a turbulent and unedited mess. It has allowed me to share my experience with trichotillomania, disordered eating (not an eating disorder mind, but that is arguable in itself), my depression and everything that comes with it. I hope that I have shed a light on some of these issues, however, I don’t feel as if I’m doing it justice while writing as casually as I am.

If I die and my many journals are found from underneath my bed, I would much prefer my family to lay witness to when my thoughts were presented with some clarity and insight. Not only the jumbled mess of words that are dictated with incredibly raw emotions. I want them to see both in the same way I would like you to see both. I want to show both the emotionally charged entries which make no sense to the sane eye as well as the logical posts which show some form of reflection.

Most of all, I just want to heal.

I believe by composing my posts in this way, continuously reflecting and evaluating, will provide me with a better chance of doing so.

And that is all that I want to do.

So a bit of both is now in order, one more than the other. But we shall see what happens.

It may be an interesting mix afterall.

Nakedstreetkid out xx 😛

moments

Moments: A Journey on the Outside

The clicking and groaning of the train distracted me periodically from the hushed whispers being spoken by the two ladies sitting opposite me.

Even though I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, I couldn’t help myself. It didn’t matter anyway, I didn’t understand them. It took me a while to realise that they were speaking some form of broken spanish. And even when I did figure it out, they had noticed me looking and had decided to speak wholly in Spanish from that point on. Not that I minded, because I was half sure they were talking about what I was wearing. A skirt with a single cardigan, boots and a body warmer. I knew my mother would be in my face, giving me a right earful when she saw me dressed for warmer weather, but I couldn’t care less. Even though I knew I should as it was pushing a measly 4 degrees Celsius that day in London and I wouldn’t be too happy in an hour or two. But I would get over it soon enough.

Anyway, we had arrived at the last stop and it was time for me to get off, so I could stop worrying about what I was wearing being analysed in Spanish.

My phone buzzed twice with the arrival of a new message, it read:

From: Mama
Subject: (there was none)
“G, you don’t need to come, it’s been sorted out.”

Hm, well, I wish she had told me that before I had left the comfort of my bed quite hastily for the crippling cold of the streets. And yes, I’ll admit it now, my finger and face – if nothing else – were popsicles of ice by that point. A part of me wished that I’d had a small temper tantrum, refusing to leave home to help her, that way I wouldn’t have left so soon and would have saved myself the trouble of leaving in the first place.

I quickly typed a reply back to her, mentioning none of my dismay and accenting it with two ‘x’s’ before sending it. I looked around, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. Glancing up, I saw the signs directing me to the Central Line, so, I walked up the stairs at Stratford Station. I might as well take the train to the library if I’m out.

An instant later her reply arrived with a ping and a vibration on my phone.

From: Mama
Subject: (again, none)
“Love you G, God bless you”

I guess that’s mum in a nutshell because you can’t be annoyed at her when she says things like that. I typed a reply, just as quickly:

From: Gina
Subject: (none)
“Love you too, Ma. Take care! 🙂 xox”

And with that, I made my way onto the Central line, getting off at my designated station.

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The Good Side of 2015

This year in particular has been filled to brim with equal parts of bad and good.

Like Ying and Yang or just a simple karma-like charm, I have had moments where the year has been unbearable, but also moments where the shine of the world has protruded through the ever-present darkness. So, this post is to that, to highlight all of that.

Put simply, this year has most certainly been a year of friendship.

Last December, I was in a position of fear. I was half-way through my final year of A-levels and I had just submitted my personal statement and waiting for replies. Almost not expecting any. But then, for the first time since I had gotten there, I had made a group of substantial friendships in my school. Friendships which lasted into 2015. And I know that sounds cheesy, but hear me out.

These group of friends have been life-savers in more ways than one. They have been people I have talked to, people who have expanded my mind and the world outside it. I have had friends who have had differing opinions, so different that it has shown me many different ways of living. It has shown me so many different ways to still be myself while undergoing change.

That was the former half of 2015. The latter half? Well, I got a bleeding job. Which I am over the moon about. And from that, I was able to meet all these different people who are both crazy and loving, funny and fabulous, talented and eye-opening. They have made the latter half of this year really fantastic.

But someone who has made it all the more worthwhile is my gorgeous and beautiful niece. During the former half of 2015 I feared that I may never actually see her due to custodial issues between my brother and her mother. But after much crying, many observed visits and a court case, I now have the luxury of seeing her throughout the week. And even though I have a hard time accepting that I did not go into university, if I had, I would never have been able to see my niece grow up. So, in a way, not going to university was a god send.

Overall, 2015 has been quite the year for me.

A lot has happened this year, and although some has been bad, there has also been a lot of good. And that is what matters.

That is what matters.

Have a fantastic New Years Eve and I’ll see you in 2016.

Have a good one, guys.

Nakedstreetkid out x