Grief, noticing, and hope

I’ve been feeling the grief I mentioned in the last post I wrote, so deeply lately. And it feels very much to do with not telling my mum how I’m doing, what I’m doing, all that I’m achieving, all that I’m healing. It feels a grief so painful that I usually end up lost and unable to sit with it. I end up scared and feeling too vulnerable. I need someone there to guide me through it. To help me grieve.

I just want to reach out to someone, to a mum, and tell them how I’m doing. The funny thing is, I don’t actually want to do it with my mum. I want to do it with a mum. It feels like a pain in my chest that hurts every time I realise I don’t do this. It’s there because I want to do it with my mum, but I think the grief has come – and is something I am able to hold – because part of me is realising I’m not going to be. This distance is essential and I think the more I realise that, the more the grief can come. And the more I realise how much this distance is bringing me – the way it’s enabling me to shape my identity and ultimately, to heal – I think the grief can come for this reason too.

I feel lost and abandoned, and hurting and open.

I feel full of grief but I feel full of love. I feel lost but I feel like I’m continually coming home, to the person I was always meant to – and going to – be.

I do feel a despite ache for things to be different. With my mum and my dad. With my

Witting about it feels safe. Thinking about it feels safe, because now I don’t over-think. I drop into the feeling and where it is lying in my body. I allow the grief to have a voice, and move. I think this is why it feels safe. I don’t get flashbacks because I am with the feeling, with my body, rather than with my mind. My mind is where the graphics, the images, are stored. My body is where the gold lies. Where the memories are stored in the place they can release from.

The place that love belongs, and the place that love and compassion can be found.

This has broken open a door in my healing process, I’m sure of it. Just what I’ve noticed in the last month, is something to go on. And so I hope that continues. I’m pretty sure it will, because I remember my therapist once telling me that mindfulness – mindfully feeling feelings – is like riding a horse (or a bike, i can’t remember which). Once you get the hang of it, you wondered how you ever lived without it or how you ever couldn’t do it before.

Mindfulness as a practise – meditation – has defo come in waves and ebbs and flows. But the practise of being mindful is different. That’s just been growing and growing the last year or so. And this way of feeling feelings in my body has been the theme of therapy for the last two years, but something that I’ve found hard to coin for myself out of therapy.

But it’s coming. Defo coming. In fact, I think it’s actually come. It’s here. It’s happening. I’m doing it, and I’m succeeding with it.

That’s pretty rad.

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The thing about this grief that’s here, is that I feel able to share it with others. I feel able to feel it when I’m with others and not always say something about it. Or I just need to say ‘I feel sad’ or ‘I feel alone’ or ‘I’m feeling a lot grief at the moment’, and that is often enough. I really notice my communication has become a lot clearer and from the heart.

I don’t need as many words as I had to, to say what I need to say, or to feel connected and supported. That’s beautiful and so so healing due to how lonely I have been feeling lately. That loneliness can be soothed with just one heartfelt connection rather than a few connections in which I’ve tried and tried to speak from a place I can be heard, but never ending my feeling really heard and seen, and ending up feeling more pain and more loneliness and isolation.

The trick is I also notice who I pick to connect with, to talk to, to open my heart to. This has been coming for a while, and still is growing – my ability to notice and nourish myself with people that notice and nourish me. And picking the people to talk to about whatever topic – knowing my crew, knowing my resource, and sticking with the guidelines, the boundaries, of each friendship. That used to always piss the stubborn part of me off, because I want someone to be there for the whole of me, and so I would step over these boundaries and into the limitless love area…but would rarely feel met and would generally feel raw and open for hours afterwards. And lost, too.

I think it’s the art of noticing. That’s the puppy in healing, it seems. Noticing, not attaching. Noticing, not describing. Noticing, not telling. Noticing not rejecting. Noticing, not missing. And noticing it all – the bits that piss me off, the bits that make me rage inside that are part of me or feelings I’m feeling, the parts of me that I just fucking wish weren’t there sometimes. The parts of me that hold so much pain it’s seemingly uncontrollable.

The parts of me that pretend to not need me, but so do.

It’s noticing it all with an open heart and a compassionate warmth towards myself and the world around me.

Noticing. Noticing. Noticing.

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Healing is…

Trusting that these are just chapters of my book, versus of my life song. And without these chapters and versus, the book and the song, wouldn’t make sense. It would be incomplete. There would be nuggets missing. I wouldn’t be whole.

Just how I’ve needed all the chapters before me, no matter how painful and confusing and how much part of me longs that they had been different, my story and my song, needed them.

I needed them to make me, not break me. That’s what they were here to do.

That’s freakin’ beautiful.

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Midnight Chatter

I feel like something terrible is going to happen. Dread and convincing stories are running through me like full-speed water, flooding from a dam. Only the dam is a shutter in my head, opened by anxious chatter. And the dam is only gently pulled shut, or to a trickle, by love.

Love and gentleness to myself. But even then, it doesn’t always do anything. I feel lost in a storm and I can’t see my way out. I feel lost in a dizziness, a trip, of anxiety and worst-case scenarios, worry and fear.

I’m not really sure how to stop it.

It’s not until I spend time with people, that I really hear how loud the voices have been yelling. The stories, the dread, the anxiety, the worry. When I’m with someone, they almost become a mirror for what I’m feeling. They become the bouncing board, the story board, for what I’m feeling and what I’m experiencing. Maybe that’s why I find it difficult to be with people.

I think this is hormones. I think this is PMS. Last month my PMS involved the darkest most intense PMS yet…I reckon. And this month maybe, rather than a darkness, there’s a sparkiness…a motherfucking BRIGHT and LIVELY sparkiness. In other words, ANXIETY. It’s a bitch. Such a bitch.


I find it hard to know what to act on, and what to leave behind. I find it hard to know what is trauma and anxiety that is just there, considering everything I have been going through, and when it is anxiety here because beneath the anxiety, is something I need to work on, sort out, do…

I’m not really sure. There is so much in flux at the moment, and so much to be worried about. But also, in a way, there isn’t. Like, I have the basics here by me – a roof, a fridge of food… but in these moments I find those things hard to take as anything to go on. But if you ask anyone, it really is the basics that it comes down to. The basics that count. I am beginning to very slowly see that. There just is a truckload of resistance when it comes to trusting that. And that’s fair enough.

Just like the resistance around me feeling safe, or feeling supported, or feeling held, or feeling comfortable, or feeling happy and held. Fuck that resistance, but again, it is there by the truckload.

But, saying that, there is a little part of me open to all of that, and a gentle, loving, compassionate voice that is telling me I deserve it, even when my body almost retches with angst at the thought, or sight, of those loving, bright, feelings.

Along with this compassionate and loving voice that’s getting stronger by the day, my heart feels open – wide open – at the moment. Wide open, or slammed shut…I feel like I need an inbetween. It’s beginning to be there, slowly and gently.

It’s time for bed.


Natures Medicine

Natures medicine

Nature has always been one of my closest friends. The relationship is based on a sacred sense of trust, companionship, understanding, unconditional love, respect, admiration, awe, and adventure. She’s been there my entire life. She’s witnessed all I’ve been through and all I continue to experience, and I have witnessed areas of her unfold around me, and experience all she continues to experience.

As someone who isn’t in touch with their family, and was never properly mothered, nature nourishes the parent within me and offers me a safe place to take my grief and allow parts of myself to heal. She reminds me I am part of the Earth’s family, and helps me feel a valid member of it too. When I don’t feel able to connect with anyone outside of me, I know I can with her. And at times of loneliness, when I feel like I am the only person in the world without a family or intimate relationship, my heart can still open to her. My heart knows the Earth is always with me, offering unconditional support and the opportunity to have my experience witnessed, without judgement.

The last five months I’ve spent the majority of my days tucked inside my bedroom because I’ve been – and still am – recovering from two slipped discs in my back. Fuck, it has SUCKED. This whole time, nature has been at the forefront of my mind. But she’s been there because she’s been missing. I think of her with an aching heart and feel a desperate grief. But also a crippling guilt. I have felt like I have abandoned my oldest friend, because – for the first time in my life – I haven’t been out, truly enjoying, her. And I haven’t been able to proactively support her. Instead, I have become addicted to screens. Nature always provided me with inspiration, comfort, reassurance and connection, but because I haven’t been able to be with her intimately and completely, this has temporarily been being provided through holding my i-phone…not the place I wanna try and get it all from. And not the place I CAN get it all from.

I have still connected with the Earth regularly throughout each day – through my window or in mindfulness meditations; lying on the grass outside in the garden; ritualistically; watching wild films; or simply from the birds, the stillness, the rustling trees, and the life, I can hear from my room. But this doesn’t cut it. Parts of me have felt neglected and almost forgotten. And I have noticed that a sense of being un-parented and totally alone has felt deeper than ever – I need my sacred time in, and with, the Earth. I need my relationship.

It has felt so easy to forget that my spirit is wild, too. So easy that I seemingly almost have. There have been creative ways I have made sure that I haven’t lost this wild spark completely, but it’s been fucking hard – my heart and soul needs nature’s wild spirit in order to keep it alive in me. I need the chance to be in nature’s magic and beauty, every day. I need the playfulness, the vibrancy, the aliveness she offers, as well as the stillness and the beauty that I can connect with when just lying in bed.

My body, as well as my psyche, has been aching for more. It’s ached for physical contact with her. Without my body moving with the Earth, in the way I have always known, I feel painfully lost. My compassionate mind-body connection that I was beginning to cultivate, has felt cut-off and replaced with one of frustration, hate and distance – my body has felt foreign. In nature, it feels like mine. I remember my body again. I feel like I’ve come home – within me and around me.


The times my back has begun to mend and I have managed to get out into nature, even if to just cuddle a tree in the nearby park or lie on the grass and gaze at the sky or a quick swim in the icy sea, my pain has dissolved. Or I have been able to sit with it and offer it my compassion and my breath. The health that has felt a million miles away during my time in bed begins to come back immediately – my strength starts to flood my system, my body feels held, and my mind feels vibrant and open again. Parts that were seemingly forgotten, greet me like an old friend. They just needed nourishment.

I remember someone telling me that in times of struggle, we get insights into what we need…it couldn’t feel truer. I have always known I need my time with nature like I need my food, but this experience of being so confined to my bed and unable to move with her in the ways I have always known, has given me a deeper and more intimate insight into this need – I now know what happens when I don’t get it. I get depressed, anxious, and so lost. I feel ungrounded and out-of-my-self, and my imagination and inspiration wilts. And as for screens – they have been nourishing but they have also been incredibly draining and disconnecting. I know excessive time with them, just ain’t me.

To have had this experience and to have been feeling all these feelings has been incredibly hard, but it has also shown me I am human. A wild human. And by being human, wherever I am and whatever I am doing, I am part of the rest of the Earth’s family. The family in which we all, unconditionally, belong.


Find the ones that lean into the questions

“Watch the ones whose only option left is to lean into the questions. The ones who are uninhibited by the unknown because they’ve jumped into that gaping hole and found themselves, by grace, unswallowable. Watch the ones who willingly stand with Feist and say, “I feel it all” even when it scares the shit out of them. It’s not brave to have answers.”

~ Mandy Steward

This quote overwhelmed me with it’s relevance, and its beauty, today.

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To be wild is to be human

“To be human is to be wild.

Wild is the strange pull and whispering wisdom. It’s the gentle nudge and the forceful ache. It is your truth, passed down from the ancients, and the very stream of life in your blood. Wild is the soul where passion and creativity reside, and the quickening of your heart. Wild is what is real, and wild is your home.

So step into it. Your primal self. Be courageous. Stand up and show who you are, authentically, and completely unapologetically. Be fearless in your ambitions, goals and decisions. That energy will then spread itself into the world and boost the human race, for one drop can indeed, raise the entire ocean.

Make sure to listen to your cravings. They’re wild. And they’re your truth.”


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Provided I have what I need, darkness is safe to feel.

Provided I have what I need, darkness is safe to feel.

When I don’t,
I feel lost and unsafe.
Without a home
And without a case,
To shut myself up in
And let myself roar.

When I don’t,
I feel abandoned.
I feel distraught,
I feel forgotten,
And I feel totally undeserving.

To not be alive,
Feels like a dream.
A desire.
A want.
A longing I seemingly don’t want to deny
But one I fear
And try to hide.

When I find, hear, discover, work out,
And listen to my needs
– no matter how ‘small’ –
I feel safe.
I feel heard and held
And able to heal.

I connect to the earth
And the feeling of support.
I take comfort in the contact
With the wild living force.
I rub my legs
And offer myself
The comfort I deserve.
I text a friend
And tell myself:
I deserve to be heard.

This wash of terrifying darkness
– this wash of immutable
Aching, blinding, and seemingly neverending
Sorrow –
Seems ancient and forgiven.
It feels like an old friend
That is back here visiting.

But a friend that doesn’t suit me –
That doesn’t serve,
That doesn’t heal.
That doesn’t nourish.
It’s a friend that has grown
Away from me
Not beside me.

When I ask for my needs to be met
– by others, the world, myself –
I know I am deserving.
I know I can – and it is safe – to feel.

When I get my needs met,
By asking and reaching
And seeking support,
In all the many ways I can
– no matter how seemingly small:
A breath, a connection, an asking, a sharing, a reassurance, a hug, a tea, a favour from the shop –
I am able to create a haven,
A safe space,
In myself and in the world.
I am able to know I am supported,
I know I deserve to be.
In all my glory
And all my pain.
In all my darkness
And in all my fear:
I am whole.

No matter how seemingly small,
No matter how seemingly kick ass firey and large,
Darkness is safe to feel…
But only when my needs don’t go forgotten.
Only when my breath and connection doesn’t go forgotten.
Only when my need for resources don’t go forgotten.
Only when I don’t go forgotten.

Because when I do,
It swamps and cradles.
Why I withdraw into a refuge
I seemingly know is safe,
The darkness
Blinds and masquerades,
Drowns and disables,
Any sense of capability
Towards this task of living,
For which
My heart knows,
I am strong and able.

The darkness tells me I am not able,
It tells me I don’t deserve.
It tells me I am not capable,
It tells me I don’t serve.
I don’t serve the world –
And I don’t serve myself.

But when I am feeling safe and held
– when I am deeply listening –
I know this darkness is here
To tell me something.
It is here to take me home.

It is not here to lose me
Or send me swimming.
It is here to remind me of my fucking beauty
– of my core. fucking. strength.
And of my presence
And essence
In the world
And in myself.

And it reminds me,
Of my need to feel safe.
My need for gentleness and calm,
Not my desire to bombard and disarm
This darkness.
Instead it reminds me to be here
– just with whatever is –
and to look after me.

Because I am the most important
And I am the most connected
And I am the most present,
When I am living in my body.
Breathing in my body.
Not breathing in
– or living in –
The voices,
The criticisms,
The fears…
In my body lies the undiluted,
Purely free,
And trusting,

And I am here
And I will always deserve to be.

That will never fade,
My deservability.


Being supported

I’ve got this theory about support. It’s that, the more you have, the more safe you feel. And the more safe you feel, the more you feel it safe to take leaps, to take risks, to jump out onto paths you have no idea where they are headed, because you know that if anything goes wrong – or if anything goes right – you are unconditionally supported. There are people there to catch you if you fall and get celebrate with you if you succeed. Or celebrate with you if you fall, too. And also, the more safe you feel to be more yourself…to be more authentically you. By knowing you have people there whatever you’re doing and whatever/whoever you’re being, I feel like you can more easily embrace showing the world the whole of you.

Either way, I feel like I am constantly noticing insights into the impact of support. The magic in feeling supported. I watch friends who are part of a group here that I am not so sure about but am fully keen on the community element and the way the support structure runs throughout the group/worldwide movement. I watch as their lives blossom, and I believe a big big part of it is the fact that they all feel, believe and know – and are – unconditionally supported. In SO many ways. There is a network to support physical needs and a network and learning/supportive resources to support emotional needs.


I feel terrified of feeling completely supported. I feel totally paralysed – literally – with fear of being/feeling held and able to go it alone. Part of me/half of me wants it – desperately wants it. The sense of community. The sense of someone having my back if something went wrong. The feeling of unconditional acceptance and support. The feeling of people to share just daily life stuff, puzzles and problems or ideas for the future. Or simply just discussions. But another part of me/half of me is completely fucking terrified about this idea, and swimming in a sense of being undeserving. Swimming in a sense that I don’t deserve to have someone have my back. That I don’t deserve someone to be helping me and holding me and looking out for me.

The truth is though, that I wonder whether it is something that I can only feel is true or feel is happening or in place – me being supported – when I begin to let it and know it is safe. Like, it is actually there but I just cannot see it, and it certainly is not there in as many ways as I would like, or need. As I begin to love myself, deeply, unconditionally, and no matter fucking what. Perhaps as I stop abandoning myself, I will start knowing support. I feel like I’m on my way. I definitely am. I am on my path to a place of compassion and gentleness and love, I just get mega washes of chaos and self hating mayhem that charge on through amongst it too. This transition phase feels like a motherfucker. The old fighting the new is a recipe for frustration and terror, and a desire to just skulk backwards.

This theory of support has really stuck with my lately. Maybe it’s something that can only be felt when we truly love ourselves, and the feeling totally unsupported feeling is something that even people with fucking LOADS of support feel, sometimes… I think this is true, but I also think that it’s a bit of both. And it depends on the person we are. Like, I know I am a people person, so I know I need people. Others might feel supported but only have a few people around them. But maybe people with noone, and no support, can still feel supported? Maybe they use the earth, religion, spirituality…something/someone? See, there is still someone.


I don’t believe that anyone is ever completely alone, even if they seem it from the outside or the inside. There is always someone supporting them…even if it is religious figure or an imaginary friend. There is always someone. But maybe to be able to feel this someone – or lots of someones – we have to love ourselves deeply and unconditionally. It’s funny because the more I write this, the more I wonder whether actually a lot of this is about self-love. It always comes down to that pretty little motherfucker. And also, even someone who loves themselves unconditionally, must have times when they feel unsupported and abandoned…I just feel like it’s the human experience…surely?

There are different types of support. There’s the support you give yourself, and then the support others give you. Perhaps there is a checklist of all the ways you need to be supported, and it varies throughout your life, what boxes you can tick and what boxes you need others to tick. Perhaps at different phases in your life, the boxes flip over and change and suddenly you are met with a new part of the human check list that you can support, and a new part that you need others too.

More about this later.

The helping bitterness

I’m finding it hard not to have a bitterness, a hatred and a total sense of injustice, flood my being right now. I fight it but it’s there. I listen to it and it all encompasses but at least it feels heard. And it’s fucking fair enough too, considering.

This is my constant journey of feelings though, of learning that I don’t need to work out why I’m feeling what I am, I just am. And to let them be here. To let them shine but not intrude. To let them guide me but not run the show. To let them tell me what they need to, but also to realise that sometimes they aren’t here to tell my anything – they’re just here to be.

This bitterness and hatred and a fuck load of festering loathing, is here because there is noone here to look after me. There is noone here to care for me, to tend to my needs, to nurture, to feed, to provide me with all the things that I need so I can just be. It feels so fucking shit. And so fucking unfair. And I really need it. I really need someone here. I really need someone to just do my washing up. I just need someone to ask me what I need, that isn’t me. I just need someone to tidy my room so I don’t use up the time I have upright with my back, to do all the fucking mundane tasks I have to do.

I find the anger trips up and floods onto people. Not literally – I haven’t dumped it on anyone, but I am completely livid and pissed off and motherfucking bitter towards friends…there’s like a bitter hate that festers towards them. That’s projected upon them. I end up feeling flooded with hatred and feelings of let down because (this is how my feelings and dialogue goes):

a) they have boyfriends or mums or tight friendships, so they don’t need me and are looked after, and I’m not.

b) they can’t or don’t just drop everything to help me – because they don’t care enough or they just don’t want to or I am a big mega massive major burden

I then wonder whether i have any friends and all this feels irrelevant and I just feel overwhelmingly lonely. But there is something to be said about feeling such overwhelming bitterness when friends are healthy and they’re not here to help you. When they are busy, yes, but they have the beans to go out and do stuff…so they could come out and see you. Help you. Support you.

This stuff is hard to share and have here. It makes me forget I have anyone. It makes me feel ashamed because I know it’s not true. And I know that there are all these motherfucking self soothing dialogue I can do, and have with myself about why they’re not here – it doesn’t mean they don’t care and it doesn’t mean they’re not there.

The injustice and unfairness feels overwhelming and it feels really fucking true, because…well, it probably is. It definitely is. Like my herbalist said to me a while ago when I first has my back show up with two slipped discs (my poor bod), I probably do need someone to come and look after me. I probably am depleted. I probably am in need of some deep deep care from outside me.

And in many ways I got it. I got a big chunk of it when it first happened, in lots of many ways from lots of different people. But now the quiet time is here and I’m in a transition between homes and in a new part of the city and well, I feel like I can’t cope. I feel like I can’t fucking manage the constant holding it all myself. I can’t fucking focus on washing up when I can hardly stand up. I can’t hold the fort with consistency in the kitchen – the tidiness, the cleanliness, the order. I just want it to all go to shit because I want to too. Because i can’t go on keeping it from not going to shit. I want to go to shit because I’m finding it hard to do anything. I’m finding it hard to do anything more than my basic needs. I’m finding it hard to find focus and stick with it, whatever ‘it’ is. I’m finding it hard to not just feel like I already have fallen to shit.

There feels like bigger things. My back. My poor back. My happiness. The world. The destruction that’s happening. The loneliness I’m experiencing. The collective loneliness we all are experiencing. The earth.

Not the fucking washing up.

I never did have anyone to fucking look after me when I was a kid so no wonder I’m going to feel angry that I still don’t have someone here. And I also know that these are all feelings that everyone experiences to some extent – the desperate need for support and for care when you’re ill. And I am feeling it majorly right now.

Beneath this desperate need is a compassion. A new found one. One towards myself and the world and everyone in it. Towards the friends I ask for support but they then can’t give it. There’s a warmth and an awareness there that hasn’t been there so much before. Beneath my desperateness and intense feelings, is a loving openness and gentleness and compassion…beneath the fire are the coals that are bringing solidity and are a platform for my grief and for my sorrow. My tears. The fire is the frustration and the anger and the completely, but the coals burn through and are unconditionally there. To support as I grieve and to support as my fire rages outwards, rather than inwards.

They’re these just to support. I need a bumper pack of those coals right now.

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To be a teen

Never have I longed for a mother more. I keep muttering those words at the moment, but I also know I’ve said those words a thousand times before. A thousand other scenarios, a thousand other wounds I’ve cried them for. A thousand other conundrums where I’ve longed to give a call, to someone who is related and unconditionally cares.

The grief feels deeply stricken and deeply deeply sore. It feels like a wound I can’t imagine healing. It feels like a rage that stops me from seeing. It feels like a need that won’t stop singing. It feels like it’s my little me who won’t ever stop needing. And shouldn’t ever need to. It feels like my inner teen who won’t stop screaming. It feels like my perfectionist who won’t stop perfecting. It feels like a battle to be noticed, a battle to be given to. It feels like all the parts of me that were neglected – were motherfucking needing but never met – and are motherfucking needing now, and able to be met. By me, not by the mother that was given to me.

This whole time with my disc(s) has been so fucking ridiculous, and it’s around this time with my cycle that something surfaces. An unsealed, unspoken, something…always involving hatred and rage and frustration. And this time round, it seems to be going mostly outwards rather than shooting back in, becoming self hatred and loathing and depression. Instead, this month it’s raging – whatever this is – and it’s solely going outwards, except for the odd moment of utter loathing…it’s when I’ve forgotten to allow myself to be pissed.

There’s a rage here. An unseen regret from my childhood self that she was born into the situation she was. An un-fucking-fairness that yells and screams and lets rip, reminding me of the injustice and reminding me of my pain. The pain and heartache I’ll seemingly never forget. And I don’t think I ever will but when there’s healing, there’s softening…softening of the memories and the unbearable agony and hurt. There’ll always be pain but I’ll know where to take it – to a place inside my heart where I can wrap it in unconditional compassion and love, and know it’ll always be safe.

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The trouble at the moment is that I just don’t give a fuck. (Some would say this isn’t trouble – some would say this is HEALING.) I just don’t give a fuck about anybody. And I really don’t want to ever have to. The funny thing is that this isn’t the whole of me – nor is anything ever – but right in this minute, right in this hour of this eve, I don’t want to give a flying fuck about anyone apart from me. And it’s not exactly new. It’s been brewing for a while now, but right now it’s seemingly all I can see. I’ve spent my entire life caring and worrying and adjusting myself just so things can be okay, and safe, and then they never are – or were – anyway. I spent all my fucking childhood years and teens tinkering with my freedom to make sure I did the right thing. And it never fucking was the right thing anyways. But right now it’s different – I’m not a fucking teen, but it feels like I should be. It feels like I need to have my experience now that I didn’t have then. It feels like I need my rebellion, I need my anger, I need to cause some mayhem. I need to fuck people off and then be forgiven. I need to let people know what I think of them, and still stick with them. I need to love myself unconditionally and hate everyone else. I need to have my freedom.

I need to tattoo my face with names of lovers. I need to rap out lyrics of dreams of my futures. I need to burst out rhymes about abusive teachers. I need to dance until dawn and sleep until dusk. I need to share bits of make up and fuck up delicate fairy dust. I need to pick on the bullies and beat them to pulp. I need to play soccer with the boys and kiss some of the girls. I need to express my needs at the top of my voice – I need to yell and scream and know I’ll be heard. And know, I won’t be abused.

I need to know that someone is listening. And I don’t want that someone to be me, because that’s who it’s always only ever been. Me. I want my time to come that I can be what I can be. I want the person I can be, to be the one I blossom into, not watch from a distance with a painful longing and air of regret.

I never got to do all of those things and I can’t fucking do them now because I’ve got two slipped discs. But also because I’m scared. I know I need this time of freedom – any therapist would tell you that, and so would I. I need this time of not giving a fuck and looking after just me. I need to just allow myself to be me – unscripted, untainted, unaltered, and free. I need this time of nurturance, and I need this time of safety…so it can happen. I need to know I can still be loved. I need to know that I always will be. By someone other than me. I need to know I deserve to revel in the unfairness of, and the frustration at, it all. Because it just so fucking is. I need to know you can do this and still be loved. I need to know that I can do this and still be loved. I need to know that I am no different from the rest. I need to know that I am not unworthy of this development and this growth, despite not properly receiving it in the years I should.

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This evening, as I sit here festering in this unfairness and rage, my heart is singing because I am feeling. I am allowing for the injustice. I am allowing for the total fucking fear that I will never get to where I need or want, or know I am destined to be. And at the fear of what people will think of me, as I continue to become me. I am allowing for the motherfucking painful raging grief…the stuff so painful it needs to be banned from any psyche in man kind. No person deserves this shit, no matter the healing hand they’ve been dealt.

I just can’t shift the injustice, though. I just want everyone else to look after me, I just want everyone else to do what they should and be there for me. I don’t want it to be two sided, I want it to be one. I don’t want to have to give just to get back. I don’t want to have to love just to be loved. I don’t want to have to care just to be cared for. I don’t want to have to plan for a future where I will be lonely. I don’t want to have to live in the stories of the chaos that is coming. I want to live in the now and live in the freedom I can so easily give myself if I just listen.

Not to the criticism but to the healing. To the voice inside myself that is growing and growing. The voice of unconditional love, compassion, and acceptance – the part of me that is forgiving all the other bits that hurt and want to cause some…the other bits that I just want to run from or just solely BE…this part embraces them and allows them to have their freedom, but in a space inside myself that they know is safe. In a space inside myself that I know I can always create, whatever the goings on and whatever the picture outside my broken gate.

This part of me is always here now, I just sometimes have to work out how to find it. But when I do, I know I deserve this. I know I deserve this time to be a teen…I’ve motherfucking earned it. I just perhaps won’t do it quite how I might dream.

In order for it to happen, I need to continue to learn I can be loved through it. I need to know that when we fuck up, we can still be loved. I can still be loved. In order to be unscripted, untainted, unaltered, and free, I need to know this. But also, in order to know I can still be loved, I need to be unscripted, untainted, unaltered, and free, because then I know what they’re loving is really me. It’s not the scripted, tainted, altered version.

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