As I lay here, chest pounding, mind; racing. I recognise the familiar agony seeping through my stomach. I love him. I know I do. My attempts to comfort myself, feeble. Tear stained cheeks, stinging, as if taunting me; making sure I don’t forget the pain staking interaction I had just suffered through. I needed to be heard. Why is that so bad? As I hagger myself with intrusive thoughts, my boyfriend lounges in the front room. Unphased by the interaction. Confusion still racked me. He doesn’t love me, he told me so. Yet he remains here, with me. I cannot help the sob that escapes me. Why do I allow myself to be tormented so. Don’t I deserve better? Unwillingly I flashback to the stinging words uttered to me, mere moments ago. “It’s just too much, your too much. This, it’s too much” His words cutting me like a sharpened blade. My knees had buckled under the weight of every sentence. All I could do was cry. Feeling over come with heartache. “How can I support you, how can I love you, when you become a mess with every conversation?”. Insecurity over someone’s feelings for you is one thing. But hearing words such as these uttered by your significant other; nothing comes close to that pain.

I let out another cry, shaking over coming me as I continue to stir over the events of the evening. Even after such a harrowing interaction, he didn’t leave. When did I become a victim, again. Was this manipulation? Was this abuse? Iv never felt so unsure of anything. The only truths obvious to me were that 1. I loved him deeply. And 2. He did not love me back.

TRIGGER WARNING❗️

‘I’m so sorry’. I muttered as I stared at her. Although she looked exactly like me, and her story that I had written was my own; it felt like observing a stranger. ‘Why did you make me like this’. She cried. ‘Why do I have to feel so much pain’. I couldn’t bare to face her anymore, turning slightly; I felt myself slump. ‘I just needed to express myself, without judgement, I never thought this day would come, where I would be faced with you’. Her soft sobbing piercing my ears, as well as my heart. I felt like a monster. ‘Is this how you felt? Is this how you feel? All the time? How do you cope?’ Falling to my knees at her gut wrenching words, I began to cry. ‘I feel like this all the time, my only mechanism is my writing, I am so sorry, that you are the outcome and that you feel what I feel…what I felt’ An unknown wind began to swirl around the room, seemingly coming from the windows. I felt the air shift. ‘You need to heal Isabella, you need to seek help’. Her words trailing off as if running out of air. Mustering the strength to gaze at her once more, my eyes stinging, my blood ran cold. Before me, in this shattered mirror, in this fractured reflection of myself; I couldn’t take my eyes off the blood that began to pour from underneath her sleeves. ‘You can’t continue like this, please if our encounter teaches you anything, it is not to pity me, but seek refuge for your own sake. You must heal’. ❤️

TRIGGER WARNING❗️

Entry 04/06/2023 Dear Journal, We argued again today. Every conversation feels like a battle that can’t be won. Moving in together is a big step I know, and of course; he’s just worried about his daughter. I’m trying to prove myself as best I can, trying to remind myself that it’s normal for couples to argue. Sometimes, however, I forget myself. Not with malicious intent but I haven’t known safety in so long. This is the first non abusive relationship I have experienced. It’s confusing. I only know chaos. He’s frustrated, I know. With his own life to concentrate on, I worry deeply about being a burden. As my eviction date in my current home draws nearer, and his roommate becoming more turbulent by the day; the situation feels dire. I can’t help but feel like my heart is breaking, and I don’t understand why. It’s irrational, I know. But it still hurts. Dread consumes me as I fear every time we have a disagreement, he’s going to leave. I become so overcome with anxiety, I begin to draw in on myself. Sometimes I feel like I should disappear, but I won’t. I won’t do that to him, I won’t do that to his daughter. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. Xoxo

Entry 05/04/23 Dear Journal, Two days until my birthday! I want to be excited, so badly. Iv been working such long hours that I’m still yet to pack for my fourteen days camping. Il find the time tomorrow afternoon, hopefully. Unfortunately the constant conversations of money and finding a house are taking over every moment. I can’t decide how today was. We had a very long hard conversation. He’s worried about me, but he has to look out for his little girl first. My eating disorder is running rampant. He’s worried about what will happen if she’s exposed to anything that might impact her in the future. As much as it feels like knives in my heart, I do understand. It’s what I have always feared. Contributing to a childs trauma, or shattered sense of self, terrifies me. It’s why for so long I shut myself off from any fondness towards children. I’m worried now too. We booked a viewing for a house tomorrow morning, it’s beautiful. Nestled in a village where I used to live, deep in the country side. A glimmer of hope fills me, I am looking forward to this next chapter of our lives together. If we make it. I can see in his eyes, he’s scared too. I don’t know how to wrangle the demon telling me I must purge myself of all my meals, in order to attain an image I am happy with. Because the truth is, journal. I’m suffering. I can’t seem to get comfortable at night anymore, my bed once my safe haven, feels like it bruises me. Bones I didn’t know I had, in places I didn’t know could protrude, stab into me as I toss and turn whilst trying to sleep. I feel weak, like every day that I’m eating less, I’m being drained of any strength I have left. I’m scared. Fuck journal, I wish I could be different. All I can do is hold desperately onto the hopes that we fall in love with this house even more when we’re actually inside it. I pray that this beautiful bungalow will be our new home. Xoxox

Entry 06/06/23 Dear Journal, I fucked up. I fucked up, so badly. I didn’t mean to, completely overwhelmed with the long list of things to get done, I missed the important phone call. Now the house is gone. He’s devastated. When we were stood in there together, this morning, exploring what our possible home had to offer; I felt bliss. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, he was beaming. I saw actual hope, actual salvation. Our discussion in the car after the viewing felt so positive. Clinging to the idea that just maybe, living with a child, will help me want to help myself. To get better. But I fucked it up. He dropped me off mid afternoon, I became so overwhelmed and consumed by the stress I felt. Scrambling around my bedroom, attempting to pack my bags for my adventures that start tomorrow, I found myself having a panic attack. The first in so long. Whilst attempting to calm my breathing, I didn’t see my phone ringing, I didn’t answer in time. We had such a short window to complete our forms and pay our holding deposit, and I missed it. I feel so ashamed. He has assured me that it will be alright, that these things happen and another house will come up. I hope he is right. I want to find our family home, and prove I’m not always a nuisance. I can be a good girlfriend. I can be a good role model to his daughter, who I love dearly already. I can get better; I must. For the sake of my own health, and the sake of my cherished relationship. I can’t fuck this up again. Xoxo

“Oh please, not this gothic attire again, Pearl.” My mother snorted at me as I entered the family living room. ‘Please, not this again’ sighing deeply I took my seat at the dining table. Of course In her mind, goths wear black and because I’m wearing black, I must be a goth. Such narrow minded thinking is the exact reason why I don’t plan on staying here very long. She may be the woman who gave me life, however that doesn’t reflect on her attitude towards me as an individual. This society has jaded itself with prejudice and stereotypes for centuries, I know. But to hear such ignorance come from your own mother does leave a sour taste in your mouth.

‘I just think darling, why dress like your going to a funeral. The sun is shining, why not add some colour to your wardrobe.’ I barely listen as she carries on. Merely wearing black jeans and black t shirt is far from funeral attire. I tune out her waffling by turning my attention out the window to the garden, our large willow tree, lightly swaying; it’s vines dancing in the gentle breeze. Before uttering another word, I find myself approaching the glass panelled doors from our quant kitchen. Faintly able to hear my mothers words as I continue to ignore her.

Steadily, I make my way to the willow tree, sunlight dancing through its leaves. Unknowingly I decided that’s what I was going to do for the day, sit under the willow tree, alone; daydreaming as the world goes by around me.

Flittering my eyes open, almost groggy from sleep. Sunlight poured from the surroundings. My eyes no longer met my bedroom ceiling as expected, instead, clouds steadily in motion; through a sea of blue. Although unfamiliar, I only felt serenity gently coursing through me. ‘Funny’. I thought to myself. ‘I’m sure I had gone to bed’. Slowly drinking in the indulgent richness of the twinkling sunlight, I reached my hands to the ground beside me. Soft grass. I could smell it now. I plucked a single blade from below me, softly bringing it to my view. Bright chartreuse sparkling in the warm rays of the sun. ‘I must be dreaming’, I thought to myself. Even my thoughts sounded slowed down, almost as if echoing through the ambience.

Just as I thought I was adjusting to my surroundings, I felt my eyes begin to close again. Still unafraid, I succumbed to the fatigue. Not realising how intensely my ears had been flooded, the whispering of the wind previously heard, began to fade. The ambrosial smell of the earth and flowers, dwindling.

Deeper I felt myself being pulled into an all consuming darkness, then…nothingness.

‘ I know I have forgotten something’ I hummed to myself gently. Manoeuvring my way through the shopping app, half heartedly. Really, In an ideal world I would reschedule my evening, alas, I must do as I am told. Tomorrow marks my mothers 10th anniversary as esteemed CEO of her true child. Her company adorns more attention from her than I ever could. I sound bitter, I’m not. I have learnt that this is how things are now.

My mind easily wondering whilst I scrolled through my grocery screen.

As my mother’s celebration unfolds downstairs I shall need some food to occupy myself. Perks of living in a four story mansion with kitchens on every floor, I’m not forced to socialise. Albeit for some reason it makes all the difference still being in the house, just in case anyone asks about her only child, not that they ever do.

I tap away, thoughtlessly, adding anything and everything to my cart. Just so I know I have the essentials for a night hiding on the 3rd floor away from the theatrics and unnecessary displays of wealth.

As I place my phone down, having scheduled my food delivery for first thing in the morning, I lay my head on my pillow. Closing my eyes I find myself easily drifting off to sleep.

bling bling The sound of my morning alarm waking me. I sigh as I swing my legs out of bed, sliding them into my slippers. Checking my phone, I see that my food parcel has been left in the lobby, taken in by one of the staff.

My mind flittered through the series of events of the day, as I made my way through the hallways towards the stairs. ‘Hopefully she doesn’t get too drunk’ I muse to myself. Reminiscing about the time my mother had one too many wines; finding herself leading her bemused guests all through the house in an attempt to show off her hoards of statues, and needlessly large mirrors.

Stopped in my train of thought, I reach the main lobby on the first floor. My eyes drawn to the large brown bag on the floor. Not paying too much mind to where the staff member was that brought it in for me, I approached the bag and went to lift it up. As my fingers reached for it, I recoiled in shock. Whatever was enclosed inside felt..warm and soft. Quickly I stole glances down the other corridors. No one in sight. I checked my phone, comparing the logo of the supermarket to the logo on the package in-front of me. Clearly the same.

Puzzled, I stepped closer to the bag. As my foot left the ground I saw it move. I hesitated for a mere second before gathering myself and kneeling infront of it. My breathing, admittedly, became irregular with my nervousness. Stealing glances around me whenever I could to check no one was around me. Gently, I attempted to open the top of the bag, stapled shut. Again, it moved ever so slightly. Curiosity overcame me more than anxiety by this point. As my fingers pursed the top of the bag, I heard a noise come from inside it that sent a wave of electric excitement through me.

Without hesitation I grasped the bag and ran as fast as I could towards the floor I had adopted for the evening. Every step I took, feeling the bag against me, I felt some clarity as to what the contents could be. The wriggling and warmth becoming more apparent the faster I moved.

Hearing my heart thumping in my ears, I burst through the bedroom door, placing my new found, precious cargo onto the bed, taking a step back from it for a moment; I stared.

‘It couldn’t be, surely’ Completely overcome with confusion, I gathered myself and tore open the top of the bag. I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped me. Taking in all I could of the contents of the bag. As quickly as the excitement coursed through me, it ended suddenly. My blood ran cold as a realisation took over me. The contents of this bag having a darker tone that what I originally thought. You see, upon first inspection, this parcel contained three black and white kittens, so small, their eyes barely opening. The sickening part of this discovery was that also in this bag, placed almost menacingly, was a large rock.

Clearly the mix up so great, had saved these sweet kittens from a callous fate.

It’s funny isn’t it When we are children We’re taught the tale of love Meet a man Have a baby Build a life That is the goal

But what if Sometimes It isn’t so simple A man A woman We’re told who to love We’re told there is only one

But how can I choose? Why do I have to decide? I love them both equally I promise it’s true Both so different But both I adore

Which one do I choose? I don’t want to hurt anymore

*TRIGGER WARNING ❗️ *

I blinked slowly, my eyes stinging from my elongated stare. As if the letters on my screen would change after a period of time. Slowly, I took in the words infront of me. The insults, name calling, and assumptions.

Last night I decided to take a different course of my life, do something spontaneous. I had always had a passion for embodying others, dressing up, face paint. I wanted to go one step further. I recorded my self proclaimed masterpiece and posted it on YouTube, impulsively. Never did I expect the attention that it would bring. Thousands of people watching a clip no more than 3 minutes long. I just wanted to express myself, be my authentic self. But as my eyes took in every letter, of every word commented underneath, my heart shattered. Albeit there was plenty of positivity, many feeling they understood my perspective, and take on life. Others, well. Others were not so kind. My mind raced, my heart in my eardrums. I couldn’t help but feel tears prick at my eyes. Was I really all these things people said about me? And if not, how could complete strangers be so cruel.

I felt it slipping in again, my mind spiralling into the dark places I had worked tremendously hard to free myself from. ‘Maybe they’re right’ growled the voice in my head. ‘You are only embarrassing yourself’ It hissed once more. Trembling, I manoeuvred my fingers across my screen, hesitating for only a moment over the delete button.

My heart sunk, for a moment when I had posted my video of expression I felt so free, not commanded by social norms or people’s expectations. Pure bliss. But now all I felt was pure raging self loathing, twisting it’s fateful hands around my throat as I felt the air escaping my lungs, pre panic attack. Attempting to steady my breathing I curled up tightly into a ball, knees up to my chest. ‘You know you want to’ my intrusive thoughts whispering to me, almost able to feel the breath from these callous words. I had done so well, 5 months without it, the longest I had ever been. Sighing deeply to myself, I wrestled with my own restraint. This pain, this sheer embarrassment I felt, going over the things people had typed about me, their words stinging me like fine needles on a nettle. It was too much to bare. ‘Just once, just once then il stop’ I felt tears spill over my cheeks as I realised I had given in to my self soothing urges. Self destruction was clearly in my nature, to parade myself over the internet and make such a fool of myself. Slowly, I got up from my seat and took myself upstairs, entering my bedroom i stopped for a moment. Staring down and the wooden box I detested so much. ‘I don’t have to do this, I was doing so well’ I couldn’t help the sob that escaped me whilst I argued with myself in my head. I found myself kneeling infront of my hidden release, my forbidden coping mechanism. As quickly as the thoughts began, they stopped. I let out a sigh, tears continuing to stream. Feeling the cool blade across my skin, shadowing any pain you would expect. For those few seconds, my video didn’t matter, nothing mattered. A few moments went by as I continued to sit and stare down at my arm. Realisation flooding me as I realised the true seriousness of what I had done. I had relapsed, after 5 months I had succumbed to my urges again. The self loathing was back, rampant and more aggressive than ever before. In that moment I made a silent vow to myself. I would start seeing my therapist again, and until I was ready I would stay as far away from social media as possible. But the heaviest part of this solemn swear, the part I wished to stick to the most; I would do my best to be kind to myself. ❤️

I stared at my phone. Knowing what was coming next. He hadn’t spoken to me for hours. Oh how I long for the days I didn’t waste minutes staring at a screen, some how feeling my heart shatter. The bluntness of his previous replies, daggering me. ‘Surely not again’. I whispered to myself. Attempting to sooth the pain that had already began, i hummed slowly, quietly. You would think that I would have more respect for myself, how many times can someone break your heart. But here I was again. Ting My phone chirped, my heart beating in my ear drums. Almost too scared to read the words, my eyes glittered over the screen quickly. My heart sank. Guided by the heavy weight in my chest and stomach, I took in the message on the screen. Every word wounding me as the sentence went on. That’s it, he had done it. He had left me, for the sixth time. You would of thought it would get easier, but it doesn’t. Every time more painful than the last. I slowly slumped onto the floor, curling my knees up into a ball. The tears flowed like a waterfall, stinging my face. I laid in that same position all night, paralysed with heart ache.

Clink, The glasses go What a celebration A toast To the new generation We clap We laugh A glorious occasion

But wait What’s this You weren’t invited A glance A stare The room goes silent

Laughter again Of a different kind Sinister Malicious Out of their mind

“Pardon the intrusion” The stranger chimes I am the wicked I am the divine “For I couldn’t help notice, You left me behind”

A swish A flicker The room fills with smoke Only gasps For no one spoke

And just like that The night is ruined No more smiles The assailant determined

A curse bestowed With malicious intent And just like that, Off they went Swish