When I leave you out.

She will write a book, a memoir, or perhaps a short biography on her life.

There will be bits and pieces taken from each moment that has changed her. She is not the same anymore. 

She is not a pretty face with a dainty smile. No. She is the raw version and best person she could make with the life she was given. She has accepted that.

Times in her life were not always that great, some were Hell. She doesn’t regret anything that has happened to her because it made her who she is. 

Maybe she wishes things would be processed differently in her distorted mind but that is what makes a good story, isn’t it?

All these people who think they actually meant more to her than they did will see.

She won’t include your name for recognition in the book of herself. She won’t give you the audience nor the spot in the light.

So don’t be surprised when she decides to leave you out – the same way you left her.


Not Quite Normal.

She is not the way most people are. She is deeper than that. She has so much concealed within her heart it aches at times.

She is the one who is there for you when you need her. No matter what. 

She’s the type of friend that is there when life gets tough and needs a solution – not when things are going smoothly. You don’t need her then.

Her mind is tormenting with images and thoughts burned into it. The type of things she wouldn’t get into because the details would scar you. Believe me, she’s tried to scratch the surface for support and you brush her off every single time.

She is a mess but you don’t see that. She’s not like everyone else. She’s bleeding on the inside and it feels like no one can see the pain inside her eyes. 

Her eyes glimmer with tears but you see it as a sparkle. 

What can I say, she is not quite normal.



She cried.
She cried because life will never be the same. She cried because no matter what she did or how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to move past this hump.

So, she cried for the before’s, the after’s and all the inbetweens. 

She cried until the tears turned to nothing more than dry eyes.

She picked herself up, splashed water on her face, and put the smile back where it was before it fell. 


My Darling.

My darling, you may never know the strength you have taught her to own. You may never know the struggles she faced on a daily basis.

My darling, you are the reason she is fighting. Fighting the demons inside her mind. You are her angel. Her light. The only one who can remind her why she needs to keep fighting.

My darling, you are her daughter and she is your wounded mother – but the wounds will heal and she will be everything you need her to be. She will thank you for being her unwavering support without knowing it. She will always be grateful for you,  your sweet laugh, and your unconditional love. 

You are her vitality. Always. 

I love you, my darling. 


Piercing the Pain away.

She feels pain. Pain every single day. But not the kind of pain she wants – if you have been here you know.

The kind of pain she feels is raw and ugly and real. Her pain is deep inside and working it’s way outward. Her pain consumes her mind, her heart and her soul.

There are not enough adjectives in the world to properly decribe her pain.

But this other pain, the pain of a piercing, is real. It’s breathtaking and sharp and instant and throbbing. It’s as easy to describe as it is to see.

So that is what she longs for; a way to keep her pain in the here and now. Whether it be through piercings or tattoos or other body modifications.

She needs to validate her pain is real. At least, the part the world can see. 

But you can see the beauty in her pain. Beauty as a result of her pain. 

She wishes her inner pain was just as translucent but it is just another part of her hidden self.

Pain can be beautiful but, not everything beautiful comes from pain.


This is not the end.

This is not the end. 

Some days she feels like she needs to just take the leap. Forget the medication, the meditation, forget it all. 

But she won’t. She has something to prove and so much to live for. This is a hard fucking illness to live through and attempt to function on a day to day basis. Constant questioning about “how bad is it really?”

She will not let it end this way.

The teeter-totter between being somewhat up and being so fucking down is unreal. 

Hiding in plain sight as they say; blending in. Hiding behind a smile and humour is all she knows.

This is not the end. This is not her end. 

But at the same time, the thought of death does not scare her. She will take it when it comes – but not today. Death will not be a result of this beautiful mind trapped in a cage.

It will come when she is old and ready. Not today.

This is not her end.