I’m floating somewhere, endless hours spent staring out through eyes that aren’t mine. I’m trapped inside a body with no escape in a place filled with people that I see truthfully, I see behind the facades that they portray, their smiles, jokes, jibes. I see the person, I hear the tick, tick of how they work.

I feel like I’m walking on the outside of life and I’m looking in. My eyes aren’t blind to acts each person continues to show, they are sad.

Maybe one day everything will click inside of me and I’ll know who I am. what I am. Why I am supposed to be here. It feels like I’m running with no destination, no purpose.

I’m lost and I don’t fit.

If your reading this, maybe you have no idea what I’m talking about, I guess I don’t either. These are nothing more than the thoughts in my head as I try to get myself back.

My mind is fuzzy and I’ve detached. It’s like I’ve woken inside myself and someone’s taken over and lived as me for one day, two? I’m not sure. I have glimpses of things, but where I went I’m don’t know.

I self harmed I know that, I vaguely remember letting go, but was it yesterday or the day before? It all feels like a daydream.

Many things led me to that point. The fake friends from my last post. I was grateful that one emailed me and apologised, I understand what the motives were, and I have respect for the admittance.

The other one, I had to look at what happened and why. It hurt to be lied about and then lied too. It hurt furthermore when I saw doctored evidence in a bid to clear their name that certain things weren’t said about me, but I had the original for comparison.

While I stared at this I learned my father had told anyone who will listen that he has now disowned me. That I’m nothing and he’s washed his hands of me. He’s told people I said some nasty things to him and he’s sick of how I am. So we’re done because he doesn’t want to be hurt by me any longer.

In truth, it was the other way around. I asked him to not contact me any more.

I’ve had to look at these three events in this one week, I’ve hidden from the pain and wondered what it is about me that makes people lie.

The one that lied about her age, I get it. I understand, she explained things that I already knew.

My father, it’s his ego I suppose, his narcissistic need to be the one that’s suffering. He can have this one, either way I get what I wanted, I get peace, in a way it’s better. He lifted my guilt of walking away, because in the eyes of our family, it was him that left.

And the other, the one that showed me evidence of a conversation she’d had, but fixed it so it didn’t read the same. I’ve had to ask myself why, what was the reason to try and gain my trust with something else that wasn’t quite true. I don’t think it was to hurt me, if that was the case she wouldn’t be trying to dig her way out of some odd mess we found ourselves in. The motive perhaps is so I didn’t get mad and tell her to leave me alone. Maybe I am wrong I don’t know. It puts me in a strange place, while I’m upset at the dishonesty, I’m not mad, nor angry, if anything I’m a little sad that maybe she thought I would be cruel in the end.

I guess I forgive them all in different ways, because I understand their motives. I’m just sorry these things happened. I’m sorry I can’t fix those things and I’m sorry I can’t fix whatever it is about me.

I know the outside package, while I cannot look in a mirror, is not ugly to the outside world. I wonder if it was, would people stop hurting me?


Some days, I wish I could confront my father.

Not with the past; even as much as I want to beat him with the question of why until he is down on the floor, and because I want him to be sorry for what he’s done.

What I wish is that I could take hold of him and not say look what you did to me as a child, but rather, look what you’ve done to me in my life now. Today; when everyday is a constant battle. I wish I could give him a day of it.

Most days, I think I have gone somewhere in my mind. Apart from writing, my voice is still missing. I still cannot bear to look in a mirror any more than I have to. I hate the face that stares back at me. It is not mine. I wish I could cut it away.

My father was very nice to me this weekend. He had to have his cat put down. She was actually mine and he came to my house to drop her things off. He was concerned I was okay with her passing.

She had not been my cat for years, but this side of my father is the hard one to deal with. He’s nice and caring and I’m walking over a pit on a broken plank waiting for it to give way.

I have to remind myself of the reason he had my cat. I had to leave everything behind to enable myself to recover from drug abuse, and the reason I was doing that was the because of the life he had given me.

He has thrown me into turmoil once more.



Note: I wrote this some weeks ago when I was at a point I didn’t see a way out of, I needed an outlet. I thought I would share. Could be triggering to those suffering self harm issues and possibly disassociation. Read with care.

When I look in the mirror I am shocked. That is not my face. That is not how I look. I want to claw his face away. It’s a lie. I am trapped in his body. I don’t look like that. 

I see what everyone sees. I see why they hurt him;   right there in his eyes. It is what he was made for and what he deserves. I hate when I see the tears in his eyes. He looks stupid when he cries. He doesn’t deserve to let the tears go.

You cannot cry for what you are. It’s his fault; he has no right to cry. He is bad. He is worthless. He doesn’t get to cry about that. 

I see his blood in the mirror but it isn’t right. I need to see it for real so that I can feel it. I can’t feel it in a reflection that is a lie. I need to see it happening. I need to feel it; the sharp burn as the skin gets cut.

I grind my teeth down because it hurts, but then I see him doing the same. He doesn’t get to keep the pain away. He isn’t allowed to.

It is his entire fault. I want to smash the mirror. I want to pull him out and beat him. I want him to go away and never come back. I want him to die.

I hate him.

He eats and he isn’t allowed. He doesn’t deserve food. He doesn’t deserve to taste things, but I watch him and he does it like he can’t help himself. He has no control. He should eat nothing. He should feel hunger. He should feel everything. 

He is a lie and everyone sees through it. Everyone knows that he is there to be hurt. But it’s not him that gets hurt, it’s me.

They get it wrong. 

I keep drifting off. Not to sleep; just somewhere. I get lost. Maybe he does it. Just like now. I don’t know where I have gone. I don’t really know. My mind keeps wandering. 

I like to watch the skin bleed. I like to watch when it burns from the kettle or the iron. I feel it when it goes over me like calming music. Every nerve reaches to feel it, but then he is there. He spoils it. 

Everything I do, he spoils. I get happy; I get content and think maybe this time things are right. They feel right, but then it’s him and he ruins everything.

I hate him.

Because of him, it all goes. Something happens and it is supposed to be him that gets hurt. Not me, but it’s me that feels it. Me that hurts.

I see the walls fall on the comfortable place I made. They crash down so loud I can’t hear anything else. It’s always this way. It happens every time. I’m a fool to believe that it is different. Foolish to believe in people. Foolish to believe that maybe this time he won’t ruin it. 

Each time is worse. I curl up inside and wish to be taken away. I just want it over. I ask all the time; just take me away. Make it stop. But I am never answered. I know there is no one listening.

 I can’t cut deep enough. I keep trying and it doesn’t go away. It just bleeds. I don’t want it to bleed. I just want to feel that pain and not this one.

He can’t even give me that. 

I want to smash his face in the mirror.