All my things were packed up into bags and boxes.

I thought I would feel weird. This place had been home for me for nearly 10 years. Well I used the term home loosely. This place had been far from a home.

A home was supposed to radiate warmth. You were supposed to feel safe at home. I was always on edge here. Trapped. I never felt free. Never in control of my own actions.

Today those feeling were coming to an end. I was getting out of here.

It hasn’t all been bad. Hidden down deep there were a few good memories. Nothing that I could recall at this present time, but they existed.

I sighed. I wasn’t sure if it was released frustration or sadness.

I picked up my first box and made my way to the waiting car.

It was over. I was getting my fresh start. I was finally getting my shot at happiness.

After the final box was moved. I closed the door and got into the car. As I did up my seatbelt I refused to look back. I had already said my goodbyes long ago.



There was nothing better than someone doing something special for you.

You get this warm gushy feeling that pools in your stomach and spreads all around you.

You get that flushed feeling and your cheeks are warm to the touch. Your heart feels like it’s wrapped up in bubbles.

That’s exactly how I felt when I opened the locker and found three mini cheesecakes wrapped up in foil.

Lemon to be precise. My favourite.

He had pressed the key into my hand and with a smile proceeded to tell me that he had left a surprise for me.

Locker 13.

An unlucky and unfavored number to many.

But to me it was the start of something new. A blossoming beginning.

I bit into the cheesecake, the hunts of lemon waking up all of my tastebuds.

A smile washed over me.

I think I was falling in love.


My eyes felt heavy as the day began to draw to a close.

I felt full and happy. Stuffed on turkey and all the trimmings. What a day. Surrounded by family and food. What other way was there to spend Christmas?

My feet were more than doggone tired but I would survive.

For one day of the year I could forget about all the woes that were constantly running about my head and just be happy.

Happy, a word that I would never thought I would ever use to describe myself. But here I was basking in all its glory.

The corner of my eye spied the chocolate log that I hadn’t yet eaten; to give into temptation or not to give into temptation? Now that was the question.

It took me all of one second to make my decision.


Sleep. A concept made for people who like to give their body the nourishment and the respect it deserves.

I was not one of those people.

My current state was more than tired, if that was even possible.

I had run myself ragged. Going from a 10 hour shift to studying.

Who said that education was rewarding. At this time I wanted to slap them across the face and yell that it was far from rewarding.

All I wanted to do was curl up in a fetal position and sleep sleep sleep. Unfortunately, I was stood at a bus stop in the middle of a harsh winter and the bus was no where close to getting here.

The bags under my eyes were fuller than the pockets that held my money. I was both cash and sleep poor. Funny how those two things went hand in hand.

Come on bus I muttered under my breathe, do me this one solid and I will never ask for anything again.

I shuffled on my feet, to stop the coldness from freezing my toes.

Please come soon.

And like a Christmas miracle the bus came speeding towards the bus stop. My chariot ride to my bed.


Who would have thought that something that comes so natural to many, held the power of changing your mood. Turning it a whole 180.

Something that you didn’t have to pay for, but you could do if you wanted a professional.

The body was such a powerful tool.

That’s what was running through my head as I stared at the chip of paint that was hanging on for dear life to the ceiling.

Why wouldn’t it just fall?

I looked back at Lucy, she had a kind face. The type of face that held reassuring powers. I guess that’s why she had become a therapist.

My finger continued to play with a piece of thread that had come lose on the bottom of my sweater.

The weight that continued to press down hard on my neck, was easing up. Verbal diarrhoea was spewing out of my mouth as I confessed my inner most secrets, spoke on things that I would never tell anyone that I knew. I spoke about the darkness that I never seemed to be able to shake. This was a no holds barred situation.

When my mouth finally came to a rest. I felt lighter. Free.

It truly was good to talk.

I had made the first step, working on getting better. I didn’t want this darkness to stop me from living life. I wouldn’t allow it to win. I wasn’t going to allow it to fully consume me. I would soon hold all the power and it would cease to exist.

I was looking forward to being in control of myself.

A smile slowly crept over my face and I continued to speak.


Most of the time my head feels like it’s stuck in a cloud of fog. It’s heavy, weighted down by worry after worry after worry.

I’m a prisoner shackled to doubt.

I want to break through. I want to be brave.

My feet edge closer to the sea. The sand feels hot under my heels. My eyes are closed.

The sun beats down on me and the sounds of the waves guide me. One more step and I’ve made it. The water pools around my ankles and I open my eyes.

I turn around and scan around the beach for you. When I finally locate you a feel a tingle run through me. This is happiness. This is a moment that I will store forever in my memory banks, and pull out when time doesn’t feel that good.

When even the sun itself can’t gage a smile from me. When the envelopment of a duvet is more appealing than getting up and facing the day. I look back to moments like this and they make me feel almost human again.

They remind me that this is not forever. That the storm will come to an end.

I lock eyes with you and your smile draws me back to the shore.


I feel like I’m drowning in the middle of the ocean and that someone rescues me but then drops me back in and then rescues me and drops me back in again and again. Over and over.

Spluttering and gasping for air. Over and over again.

Wanting help but never finding it. Searching for a way to end the suffering that I never asked for.

This is my cry for help. This is me shouting at the top of my lungs, that I need help.

I have never felt more lost than I have now. Or maybe I have. Maybe I’ve felt worse than this before, but I shut it so deep down that I forgot and it’s not even a distant memory anymore.

I used to have days when I would wake up and happiness would spread all around me. Wrapping me up in a cocoon of love and joy. I felt safe. I felt worthwhile.

I haven’t felt that way in a long time.

My eyes are a constant red, bloodshot from hours and hours of crying. Constant bad thoughts drip dropping inside of my head.

I need help.

When will there be a day when I can truly be happy? When will there be a day when I’m not constantly battling with myself? Thoughts of me dying frequent me way too often then I would like.

I want to live I squeak. I want to experience great things. But the black smog stifles my words, it stops me from getting them out.

I need help.

I long for it to leave me, my constant unwanted companion. It sits on my chest, squeezing every essence of joy out of me.

It robbed me of my smile and every time I ask for it back, it laughs at me. At least it gets to laugh. Real laughter has not visited me for years. I’m so used to laughing fake laughs that they have become part of me.

I need help.

I want to shout it again. I want everyone to hear me. See that behind this mask that lies to everyone that I’m okay, that I’m alright; I’m really not. I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay in a long long time.

I need someone to guide me home. Help the me that is wondering around out there, lost and confused and just wanting to come back.

The me that once saw a destination further than the end of the rainbow.

That me, wants to come home. So please if anyone can hear me.

I need help.


I stare at myself in the mirror, allowing my towel to drop. My eyes automatically scan the parts that I hate.

My breasts are too saggy, my stomach too big. My arms too flabby, my thighs too dimply, butt way too flat.

Why is it that the good things never come to light? I never see the things that are supposedly positive about myself.

I was never going to be good enough. Never going to be the supermodel that I thought I needed to be.

I picked my towel up and hurriedly wrapped it back around myself in disgust. I tried to control the tears that were fighting to come out, my reflection was far from my best friend.

Why couldn’t I be the pretty one? My life was shitty enough, and here I was the most ugliest on the shelf. It was no surprise that I was single, I must repel men so badly. One look at me and they felt sick, I knew it, I mean what else was the reason?

I had been single for so long, a man had not touched me in so long. I was ugly I knew it. I should just get used to it. No man would or could ever love me.

I was the rotten banana, the crushed rose, the broken biscuit. Who would want me? Who would want to love me? I didn’t even love me! Why would someone else?

I wrap the towel tighter around my body; my nails digging into my skin, and let the tears fall.


I pound away at the punching bag. The punches getting more ferocious.

Intense thoughts bounced around my skull.

I was so tired. In fact I was fucking tired of being fucking tired. Tired of crying frustrated tears again and again.

Victimising myself. I had turned myself into a victim.

I was tired of crying myself to sleep because life hadn’t gone the way I wanted it to. But who lived the life they wanted or expected?

My teeth were worn from contestant grinding and clenching. I was way past fucked up. I kept punching my way through life trying to remind myself that I was still here.

But was I though. Was I really here? Was life even real? Was this all just a social experiment for some rich bastard’s entertainment?

My eyes close on an existence that I hate. I’m angry. I’m hurting. I want it to stop. I want it to end. Why am so negative?

I want to stop, but it’s hard. So I come here and I pound this bag. Pound out all my frustrations until I’m weak, and all the negativity floods out. Making way for the next instalment.


Eyes heavy. Soul heavy. Body heavy. Joy gone.

Love lived here once upon a time, but it’s long since gone. Cobwebs dot the corners of a once happy home.

I clench and unclench my fist as I lay flat out on my bed. Spots of sunlight peak through holes in the curtain.

I want to get up but I can’t. I’m so weary. I’m weak. I feel heavy. Squashed.

I’m forgotten here. Here I forget.

A smile appears on my face and disappears soon after. My heart beats a steady pace.

I’m at peace. I could be happy. I’m ready to move on. But how can I move on? Life is a rollercoaster and mine is the coaster in the wild, the one that doesn’t stop even when the leaver is pulled. My coaster keeps on going until is crashes into the other coasters and makes a bloody mess.

I am a mess.

I need to get up. But I don’t want to.

I need to get up, but I can’t.

Get. Up.