Funny things, dreams. Everything from calming pleasure that brings a smile to your face to breath taking horror that leaves you for a moment wondering if your dream was real or not.

Seventeen minutes of sleep. That’s it. I wake startled, jump up so fast, my breath catches and my heart pounds and just for a split second I’m a child and the bad mans here.

Of course he isn’t, not really. Not anymore, but my mind doesn’t seem to accept that. Vague flashes of some dream go through y head as I try to decide what’s real, what’s a memory and what’s just made from years of fear. My hands are shaking and my hearts racing so fast as my eyes scan the room over and over, sure that any moment something’s going to happen.

I lie almost still except for the phone as I tap out my thoughts, my body’s expecting. The anticipation in my mind like an attacks just around the corner. Already I can feel nails, teeth. Fingers wrapped in my hair holding me in place while I scream and no one listens.

I wish it would stop. I wish I knew for just one night what it felt like to feel safe enough to sleep. I’ve never had that. I can’t even escape into my dreams. He haunts me there. I’m tied. Mentally, how great it must be to climb into bed, pull the covers around yourself and enjoy the silence of a safe and peaceful moment.

I don’t ever remember feeling safe at night. Not ever. Not once. Always huddled in the corner, watching the door and waiting.
I try and tell myself that it’s not real any more. He isn’t here, but my body’s taken over by the fear of a five year old, all because I had a bad dream.

I feel like I’m in a room filled with snakes, stood in the middle, trying desperately to keep both feet of the floor; with every possible part of me hidden as I imagine the feeling of their bite. It builds up so big inside that I’m sure to explode with the fear and perhaps it would be better if it was just over and done with so I could find some kind of moment to relax a little.

All the while as I write this,I lie here and wonder, maybe he’ll be real again. Maybe tonight he’ll come, because tonight, I typed this and talked.





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?