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 😛


What a battle to fight

Go make your battles with a new world, not with your old one.

I think that’s an important message to take away in this world. As a teenager, I have somehow been able to suffer from a prolonged grief over my past. My thoughts have a constant lingering motion over the abuse I may have experienced or any wrong doings and it’s exhausting. I’m tired of always looking backwards and just staring at it without knowing how to solve the problem. It’s certainly not a fun position to be in.

Nakedstreetkid out

[EDIT: supposed to be published in June]


Exiting the whirlwind of emotional constipation

Because I’ve only just started exam season and my brain has already entered a deep, dark whirlwind of endless torment, I feel it is befitting that I start to plan and see my future.

By future, I mean summer and such. I’m far too emotionally constipated to begin to think further than that (like, oh, university matters and such). So, let’s go.

What do I wish to do during Summer?

GET A JOB.  I want a job, I want experience, I need money. I guess this, in a way, is thinking about my future further than just Summer. It’s thinking about the perplexity of supporting myself during University as well. But only superficially. I also need it for the socialising. I’m not sure yet, how frequently I’ll be able to see my friends, one of them is already leaving the country during Summer. For work, in fact, in the Alps! Can you believe that? Isn’t that just so cool?

Anyway, secondly, I WANT TO GO TO PARTIES. And in order to go to parties, I need to be invited to parties. And in order to be invited to parties, I need to have friends which are going to parties. Which hopefully isn’t impossible. I really do hope after all the “no, no, no’s” I’ve been giving everyone during exam season, they’d still invite me, you know? Well, we’ll see when the time comes. Anyway, the reason why I want to go to parties is because I need to be experienced about the do’s and don’t’s of party life. I’m not a frequenter at parties, so I don’t really know the rules and such. Hopefully, the Summer will reverse that, so that when I go to them, I’ll be well versed enough that I can go to them during Uni.

Thirdly! I don’t really have a thirdly. I just feel like everything good in life comes in threes. I guess the thirdly can be all the little, necessary, unthinkable things that I must think about during the Summer. For example:

  • Buying everything I need for uni
  • Going to results day to actually make sure I go to uni
  • Obviously spend time with my best friend
  • Maybe a bit of travelling
  • Seeing the friends I care about
  • Obviously catch up on all the TV shows I have missed over the last few months
  • And not so very obviously, go to the GP to start looking after my mental health

That type of jumbled up, crazy going, casual riding mess can only be dealt with at the time. And may change, depending on numerous factors.

Anyway, let us hope that everything goes well and I exit this hopeless, dark and scary whirlwind of doom and come out the other end unscratched. Kind of like a piece of corn, coming out from your buttocks.



Nakedstreetkid out ;P



Fast forward on exhaustion

For the last two weeks I have been exhausted.

Sleeping for an extended period of time after school everyday as if I don’t have work to do. As if my homework and revision can wait for me to become energetic again. But it can’t. Because despite my lack of energy, the world is still moving all around me. Sometimes in slow motion feeding me with the illusion that I do in fact have time. But, most of the time it is as if someone had hit the forward button so that everything is destined to pass me by. And with everyone just passing me by, I’m just getting even more exhausted watching images of people flicker past my eyes.

Nakedstreetkid out x


Published without hesitation: Dystopian themed dreams

It’s sunny and I can see everything.

How messy my bedroom is, how messy I am, the way my stacks of books look (disjointed and slightly askew). And the fact that I still haven’t gotten out of my bed. I can still see that. Oh, and the additional fact of “I don’t want to!” Get out of my bed and continue with my life.

There are a few things in life that you don’t want to hear. And most of them are from your subconscious, dressed in the cloak of your therapist in a dream telling you that you’ve got to start looking after yourself. That the condition you have put yourself in now, is not good enough.

Which is frustrating to hear because it’s not just my fault. It’s everything in between as well as my fault. But I guess I’m just one of the many variables and I am the one that I have the most control over when in comparison to everything else. Which is annoying to accept because I want to pretend otherwise.

Ugh! Waking up being this thoughtful because I get trapped and almost get killed in a dystopia within a dream has its drawbacks. But it also has its own advantages.

Nakedstreetkid out ;P x


Happy songs and other confusing things

So, I keep thinking to myself “what is my happy song?” And that’s mainly because my days have become extremely monotonous with mountain piles of revision overloading each and every hour of my waking being. And mainly because I have an interview in a little less than 5 hours for a university I actually want to go to and have to convince them that they are the ones I love. And this is difficult for me because I’m freaking out.

So, what is my happy song?

My mind returns to my past experiences in my secondary school, surrounded by the people I absolutely love and contributed to the development of what I call me. And I just remember days where we put these unheard, unknown rastafarian, afrobeats and bollywood songs that someone somehow had stumbled upon during their happy hour. And I can’t remember these songs. What I can remember is how we would all dance, and dance with abandon. And I miss that. I miss the simplicity in it.

Because now that I’m growing up, I feel like I’ve taken every moment of that time in my life for granted. And I wish I hadn’t. I think I was aware things would change, but that they couldn’t because I would have some element of control. But I don’t. And that’s scary.

Now I’m watching friends from 2 years ago grow up into these lovely, stable women. And I’m here, sitting and I feel as if I haven’t reached that level yet.

I listen to a lot of songs. Those who know me, know that I’m always lip syncing songs in the street. Or recycling old ones because they portray a different meaning to me now that I’ve had a little more time to grow. I still listen to songs that I stumbled upon 5 years ago, and only update this with songs I know has made a change for me. And in that vast collection of music, I don’t think I’ve ever decided what was my happy song. What was the song that when I’m stressed or sad picks me right back up again?

I don’t know.

I hope I find it soon.

Nakedstreetkid out x



New Years Eve 2000

I can remember this date quite clearly. We were running around, and for once, my mother hesitated before telling us to mind ourselves as to not disturb the neighbours downstairs. Which I never understood. How could our neighbours even hear all our thudding around with a series of thick layers of wood acting as a barrier between us? I never understood. Not till I was older, of course. But it had always seemed to me that our small, childish feet made steps of a butterfly, not the monstrously loud steps we were actually making. But I digress.

My mum had hesitated to tell us off because she thought we were all going to die. And I was very aware of this fact because I had overheard grown-ups muttering such words over hushed whispers not to be listened to by a child my age. But I had already taken it upon myself to listen to everything these adults said. Even when I wasn’t supposed to. Even when they were whispered over loud music. I listened. Anyway, my dad had hardly hid it from us during the week of the proposed date.

He was sitting in his throne where he had his evening paper acting as a curtain for his face for a while. I’m not sure if he read it there, but he was certainly muttering it to himself in disjointed bouts of English and then Twi.

“Stupid old white people… End of the world?! I wouldn’t put it past them if it was another way to kill all the Africans.”

His crinkled old face had pushed itself hard into a frown. Lips puckered and nose scrunched as if he had smelt something bad, he exclaimed at the notion of death on New Years Day. But the fear on my mothers face as she placed his dinner on his lap had me more than a little bit frightened. She seemed to believe it. But then again, mum believed almost everything. So, I tried not to worry too much.

Plus, I was a child. I was going to heaven whether I liked it or not. Jesus would make certain of it. Or rather, my mum would.

She bathed us in a mixture of oil and holy water every other day till New Years Eve. She would’ve done it everyday, except we didn’t have the money for such a luxury. Dad controlled the money in the house. And dad wasn’t having any of it. Every time dad saw mum doing it, he would scowl and call her stupid. He even gave her a hit or two. But I don’t think mum cared too much. She just got on with it, like any other mother who feared the death of their children would.

There were five of us. I was second to last. My brother was the eldest, then you had my two elder sisters, me and then finally the new born – my little sister, Harmony. She was born in August. I never payed her much attention, much to everyone’s dismay. I think they were hoping for a reaction. But I didn’t give them any. And it wasn’t on purpose or anything, it was just that I couldn’t really care less that she was born. Not in a rude way, it was just that I was quite indifferent to her presence. She hardly woke me up at night, and I was never allowed to hold her because I was too small, so I guess we never really made that instant sisterly connection. I didn’t mind too much. But like I said, the rest did. In my personal opinion, I think they thought I had some type of hidden agenda. Which I didn’t. But, I digress again.

For purpose sake, I’ll name my siblings after the day they were born. You had my brother who was born on Saturday, my eldest sister who was born on Friday, my other sister who was born on Thursday and me who was born on a Wednesday. And then of course, Harmony.

Anyway, as I was saying before, my mum had hesitated but had swiftly told us off. And I can imagine her thinking:

“We may be dying, but we will still respect our neighbours like Jesus told us to.”

She didn’t say it. But she could very well have. It would’ve been granted given the circumstances. Even though my dad was a Muslim and would not have readily tolerated it any other day, I think he was scared as well, so wouldn’t have minded. He called this supposed “dooms day” hocus pocus, but I could see he believed it anytime I looked into his eyes.

And by amount of canned food he had purchased.

Anywho, it was time to sit down in front of the telly to watch the fireworks. Saturday had fixed the satellite really well to make sure there was little interference. My mum had bought crackers for us all. I mean, she bought it for Christmas. But I think she wanted to celebrate our lives a little bit more than she had Jesus’. Plus, Granddad had died on Christmas only two years prior, so she had lost her taste for celebrations on the day her dad died. And I couldn’t blame her. Though, when I was a child, I didn’t ever really understand. I just thought she was being stubborn and “wouldn’t Granddad understand if we had a nice Christmas?” I never said that to her, but I let the thought cross my mind one too many times that holiday.

But what would it matter? We were all scheduled to die this year. So, Christmas’, birthdays, deaths… It all wouldn’t matter. Because we’d all be dead by the time we’d open our eyes come morning.

So, imagine my surprise when I opened up my eyes and found myself alive in my bed. Sleeping alone, on the lower bunk that I shared with my sister, Thursday. I could hear my sisters snoring away and I was smiling in hope just before my smile faltered. I had always been the first one to wake in the real world, so there was a high probability that I would be the first one awake in heaven. So I just had to make sure. I had run to my mum as quickly as possible to see if it was all real.

I had pulled open the heavy door to my room and bolted out of it. Down the corridor I ran and into my parents room. I stopped, stalled by the emptiness of the bed. Harmony was sleeping quietly in her cot but no one was there. My worry started to slowly increase. I jumped onto the bed and turned around on it for a second. I thought about bouncing on it but decided against it. I had already guessed that dad wouldn’t make it into heaven, but where was mum? I jumped off of the bed and sprinted to the kitchen. Empty. The bathroom. Empty. Until I finally reached the living room.

There sitting with her legs hanging gently off the sofa sat my mother. Tears dripping one by one down her shiny brown face, she had turned her blood shot eyes towards me and motioned me towards her.

I wanted to ask her if this was heaven and why Friday and Thursday wasn’t awake yet but I thought to wait a bit. This moment seemed important to her.

So, I crawled into her outstretched arms, careful not to harm any bruises. Her arms wrapped around me and she began to rock me back and forth. She cuddled me to her chest, praying loudly to God. She was smiling but sad.

“God, thank you for giving my children another year. Thank you for keeping my children alive. Thank you for being there for them.” And she continued this way, until finally she closed with “in Jesus name, Amen”. I echoed her and we sat in silence, me and her.

She continued to rock us both, stroking my hair ever so gently. It gave me time to think for a bit. I began to think about her prayer. And how she never referred to herself. How she never once thanked God for her survival. And I thought and thought about it. Because I should’ve realised. As soon as I had saw her crying, I should’ve known it was real.

I turned my head up to hers and kissed her cheek, haunted by her still, timid movements.

Maybe we were supposed to die.