Pain

Pain isn’t always a cut or a break,
Sometimes an overly hard squeeze
Is all it will take.

Tightness in the chest
Numbness or the inability to warm up
Listen to your body… rest.

A loved one just passed
A lover’s betrayal
It happens so fast.

We are stronger than pain
We can overcome anything
In the sunshine or the rain.

Pain.

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What a day!

It’s been a day i’d rather forget. A day i would rather just wipe out of my life. Just fall asleep and start fresh tomorrow… or relive today in a totally different way.

My eldest child (a moody teen) let all her frustrations out on me today… only verbally, but i think those words she hurled at me caused more pain than if she had’ve done anything else instead.

She got me to the point where i was having suicidal thoughts. The words hurt that bad.
It was like my own teenage years had returned, the days of when i was constantly being bullied, taunted, tormented, teased, put down…..
Except this time, my biggest bully was my own daughter.
My own flesh and blood.

I wish i knew what i had done wrong to cause her to lash out like she did… it’s not the first time though, she often treats me like this. She says i don’t deserve any respect from her. I know i DO deserve respect, but a small part of me believes her as i know i haven’t been the best Mum, especially in the first couple of years of her life. I could have done more back then, but i was young, naive, and still learning how to be a parent myself.

I have spent a lot of the day not really able to complete anything that i wanted to. Nor have i really been able to continue on with the things i wanted to get done. I have simply hidden in the bedroom all day. It’s usually where i feel safe, but not today. Even when my younger three came in to spend time with me, i still didn’t feel safe.
My eldest came to the bedroom a few times (she was cleaning her bedroom today which was a miracle in itself so i didn’t want to say anything bad to her) just to curse at me, just to tell me what a horrid person i was, to tell me how worthless i was.

For someone who has such a low self esteem, it doesn’t take much for me to withdraw and feel so much less wanted than the most worthless thing you could ever imagine.

I have started doing crafts to try and find some enjoyment in life again, i am enjoying it when i put my mind to it and it seems others like what i do too as i have orders to make items for other people and they want to pay me for it. That has to be a HUGE compliment when someone likes what you do enough to want to pay you to make things for them too.

But then, like today, shit hits the fan and it feels like my whole world is collapsing around me, it feels like i am being sucked into a deep dark chasm, unable to get out, unable to breathe, unable to fight back. When life just gets too complicated, too hard.

It would just be easier to simply give up. Let the bullies win. I am sure that would then allow everything to return to some type of normality- if i wasn’t around to cause all this trouble and commotion.

I am incredibly sad… yet i have no tears left to cry. I’m all cried out, but oh so empty within.

I need to find myself. I need to find… to realise that i do still belong. That i belong somewhere. That i do have a place on this earth, that i am still wanted and needed.

I just don’t know how to find that out.

Nobody can hear my cries for help.

No Control

Shaking.
Uncontrollable urges that don’t allow me to stand still.
I shake when i don’t want to.
Because of people who can’t control their anger.

I cry.
Tears of fear roll down my cheeks.
Those who made me cry show no remorse.
Heartless creatures with no soul whatsoever.

Anxiety grows.
I can’t function as i used to.
I constantly watch over my shoulder.
I fear the animal who has no intention of stopping the torment.

Depression sets in.
The threats, the anger, the heartlessness.
It’s all too much to handle, my body can’t take it.
My mind starts to thin violent thoughts of self-harm.

Death seems safer.
It seems like a better option than living.
It makes me feel like it’s the option to take the pain away.
There seems to be no other way t make things better.

I plead.
I plead for help.
I scream out for help but i have no voice.
No one can see my pain or hear me reaching out for the help i need.

It’s gone full circle.
My body trembles and shakes.
I am back to where i started, I’m shaking.
Those uncontrollable urges are back and i can’t stand still…

Overthinking

I was just briefly chatting to a friend on a social media site and she mentioned how crazy it is that we often bump into each other online at some crazy hour of the night/morning… like now.

I do agree with her. Why do we often find it so hard to relax our minds and bodies of an evening, why is it so hard to get ready for a restful night’s sleep? Why does it seem hard to allow our bodies the time it needs to recharge and get ready for the following day?

I jokingly said to her i believe that i am most creative at this hour, she thought a similar thing adding that we must also stay awake due to the snoring coming from the rest of the household sleeping.

And yes, I am typing this while i sit on the bed, my husband laying down next to me, snoring- quite loudly at times… and also passing wind much louder and more projected than what he seems capable of when he is awake.

That’s not the only reason why i am awake though, i feel the biggest cause of my insomnia is due to so many things going through my mind. Some of the things i can pinpoint but most of them i can’t. I am sure it’s something in my subconscious mind that i must try to block out most of the time, but once i relax enough and start to feel creative… that’s when those locked away thoughts come flooding back to the forefront of my mind and interrupt my train of thought, stall my ability to get tired enough to fall asleep or influence my mind so much that i trigger myself and end up having an anxiety attack.
It really is not a good feeling, not being able to  control my own thoughts. It often makes me feel child-like again, child-like in a bad way. It makes me feel useless and unwanted plus that main thing i have noticed is that these bad thoughts seem to be magnetic- they attract other people to take out their frustrations on me. Other people seem to put me down or blame me for things i have no control over when i am feeling bad about myself.

I need to learn how to live in the moment more. I need to learn to stop over thinking.

But how does one NOT overthink?

What a mess…

This morning i was trying to write a letter but for the life of me, i couldn’t seem to get the words out right. It was almost as if i wasn’t meant to be saying what i wanted to say.

I am going to go over it again sometime and see if i can edit it to make it sound right and come out how i want it to.

All i could manage this morning was getting many different thoughts our of my mind and onto a page as words, individually they made sense, but together it was just a heap of jumbled nonsense.

I hope i can get away from this writers block and get back to having words flow freely so i can express myself how i want without sounding like a complete mess.

Free the love within

Do not hold love within your heart for fear of your heart being broken.

Free the love within.

Do not hold back from telling someone how much they mean to you for fear of the unknown.

Free the love within.

Do not stop loving someone because of ignorance or a lack of understanding.

Free the love within.

Don’t ever stop loving for fear of running out of love as love is never-ending.

Free the love within.

Do reach out to those with a tear running down their cheek, they need love at this moment.

Free the love within.

Do accept love from others with open arms and give love to others just as freely.

Free the love within.

Do be accepting of everyone; we all have pain, joy and sorrow, we all deserve to love and be loved.

Free the love within.

Just as the butterfly flutters away from the sweetly scented flower, you too must learn to…

Free the love within.

DP: Writing Space

In all my years of writing, I would have to say that some of my best writing was done at school. After I had completed my work and had some spare time I would absorb myself in my folder and let all my thoughts spill onto the pages of my notebook. I had a vivid imagination, and along with the bullying I had to endure, I found it very easy to write my poems.

In more recent times, I have done my writing on the laptop. It’s usually done when on the bed propped up against a pile of pillows. I find it easiest to write alone, but am able to write when I have company. When I write I find that I sort of switch off and ignore what is going on around me which is why I write alone as I don’t want to be rude and ignore anyone of they’re talking to me and I’m switched into writing mode.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/writing-space/

Writing 101: Day Eleven. Home is where you heart lives for ever…

A family of 4. It sounds quite typical, doesn’t it? Not for this little black duck- my family situation has always been a bit different to that of all my friends.
When I was 12 years old it was me, my Mum and her parents (Nan and Pop to me). Nan and Pop raised me more than what Mum actually did as Mum was only a child herself when she had me. Nan and Pop were parent figures to me, although I always knew that Mum was my Mum. It was just that we never got on as well as what my friends and their Mums did.

When I was 12 years old, we all lived (reasonably happily) in the house Pop had bought the year before he and Nan got Married. It was an old post-war home.
It was originally fibro with a corrugated iron roof, but over the years it had been clad with weatherboards and aluminium tiles.

My Pop had a beautiful garden in both the front and back yards. I loved to help him keep them looking their best. Weeding the gardens, mowing the lawns, fertilising, watering, dead-heading flowers, planting- I did it all, with Pop’s assistance that is.
Living in an older area (most people were around my grandparents ages), we would often have unofficial “garden competitions”. A lot of the time it was between us and a couple of other neighbours along our street.

Our house was on a 4 lane “main” road. We had a zebra crossing a couple of houses down the street from us and a large block of land across the road which had been the local hospital. The hospital relocated when I was about 7 years old. There were plans to do a lot with the land- an ambulance station, a community health centre, trauma centre, mothercraft society, nursing home… I think when I was 12, there may have been some of these buildings newly built here.

We lived in a Suburb on the cusp of becoming a city due to the number of people living there. It may have just become a city actually, I can’t remember exactly. There were only single storey houses near where I lived. There were only a couple of double storey places- I always looked at those houses like they were big mansions. Heck- I look at “brick houses” as being fancy, as compared to what I was living in… a brick house WAS fancy! (I would later grow up to understand living in a brick house isn’t fancy at all… living in an older house had a lot more character.)
A few blocks behind out house was a housing estate. It was full of Housing Commission houses (places the government rented out to low income/poor families). Unfortunately, around this time- the Estate got a nickname- “The Bronx”. It turned into a slum, there were a minority group of residents where the whole family did not have any respect or care for their home. Some would burn fires in close proximity to the house, there was an increase in violence, theft, burglaries, and hooliganism.
The media thought it would be a good idea to give a lot of attention to all the trouble that was happening and this in turn made things worse. Next thing we knew, there were often police helicopters hovering overhead, spotlights brightly shining down in our backyards looking for criminals.

Thankfully, the trouble was confined to that estate.
As strange as it sounds, it was still safe enough for me to walk my dog through that estate without worrying about being hurt. It was as though we had a mutual respect for each other.
The criminals and drug dealers knew we weren’t going to cause trouble so they left us alone. We left them alone because we had no need to interact with them, other than saying hi as we walked past each other (just to be friendly and community minded of course).

When I was 12, I lived in a little safe haven. A modest 3 bedroom house with 3 people who loved me and a lot of pets to keep me busy and out of trouble. I could walk to school in about ten minutes, had some great friends and didn’t really have anything to worry about.

How great it would be to be 12 years old again…..

Writing 101: Day ten. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

For many of my birthdays during my childhood, I was always given a Birthday Party at a local McDonalds store.

It wasn’t actually the food there that gave me many happy memories. Sure, I was a “big boned” girl, I enjoyed my food… sometimes too much.
I loved getting stuck into a Happy Meal. Was it always a “happy” meal? No, not always, but it did make me think that I was loved enough to be allowed to have this food, to get one of the toys attached with the meal.

One of the things I loved most was it was times like this that we got a lot of the family together and I could have friends over too, all at the same time.

Being an only child meant I never had a lot of company from peers around my own age. I would look at the friends of my Mum and grandparents as my “friends”. My friends at home were my pets. I always had a dog, lots of birds, fish… I even had lambs, ducks and chickens, mice, guinea pigs and occasionally rabbits as pets over the years.

But the plain old boring Happy Meal and the party that went with it always brought family and friends together. It was an occasion I would look forward to for a long time beforehand. Other than having all my friends around on this special day- my favourite bit was the ice-cream cake! Nothing beats an ice cream cake.

In recent years I have requested an ice-cream cake for my birthday, but the recipe must have been changed or something as it has never been exactly as I remembered it during my childhood.
No matter what store we bought it from, or what brand of ice-cream was used… I can’t seem to replicate those childhood memories.

Not to worry though, they were my childhood years. The times when I didn’t have to worry about much. I had family, friends and pets who loved me for who I was.

I can always find a new favourite celebratory food. Lemon cheesecake or Vanilla cheesecake is high on the list but I’m not sure if it is everything I want a celebration to be.
It could be something as simple as cocktail frankfurts and lots of tomato sauce to dip them in that brings back old memories, maybe top it off with some coconut ice… that’s something that brings back good memories too.

Writing 101: Day 8. THE CREEP

The gnarly old shrub started to move. It wasn’t the wind.
Then, I saw an arm reach out. There was a man, he was digging around for something. I knew there was nothing to be found there other than a bit of rubbish that had blown against the fence or the leaves from the deciduous trees growing nearby. Was he looking for treasure? Maybe it was a place he had arranged for someone to hide something for him to collect at a later time? Was he a drug dealer? A user?

I wouldn’t be worried as a general rule, what people do with their lives is their own decision. Everyone has the right to make their own choice- good or bad. They are almost always the ones who have to put up with the consequences.
But this was different. Here was a man dressed up in layers of clothing and wearing a big wide brimmed hat in the grounds of a Public Swimming Pool/Leisure Centre/Gym. He did not fit in one little bit. I very much doubted he worked there as he had no sign of a uniform on, nor was he acting like he belonged there.

He crawled out from under the shrub and started to wander around. He stopped, crouched down and picked something up. He walked over to a concrete water recycling tank and hurled the object at it. It smashed into a million pieces. He had picked up a glass bottle, now it was shattered. Pieces of glass littered the ground where Boot Camp was held on an almost daily basis.
Had he done this on purpose to injure someone? Someone he knew or an innocent stranger? He looked over at me. He was far enough away that I couldn’t make out his face, yet I knew by his body language that he was looking over towards me in what I felt was a threatening way.

He continued to walk around with a large stick in his hand, scratching at the ground, scratching through the leaf litter, flicking it around as though he knew there was something of value hidden there.
Once again he stopped dead still. Looking down at something for a short while, he contemplated his next move. He reached down and this time, picked up a stick. He then proceeded to walk towards the fence and without any warning, he hurled the stick over the fence, missing a car by only a few inches, the stick bounced across to the other side of the road. He walked back to where he had picked the stick up from and picked up another of a similar size. Once again, he walked over near the fence and lobbed it high into the air. This time it only just missed a car that was driving past.
He looked over in my direction, as if to say “Next time it’ll be coming your way”, then turned and walked off.

This left me feeling quite puzzled as to why he was scratching around there and even more puzzled as to why he was there in the first place.
I have seen carloads of youths loitering around the car park at all hours of the night, long after the pool and gym had closed. Was he looking for something they had left behind?

Soon after, the chemical truck arrived to deliver a load of Chlorine.
As soon as the truck arrived, the man hurried off, briskly walking down towards the pool area. Was he known to the driver of the truck?

I did not know if I should have gone over to the pool and reported what I saw or just not said anything? If I did report it, would what I tell them be taken as a fact or just something in my imagination?
If I did say something and he was found and dealt with, would he then come after me? I hope I don’t see him ever again, but I can’t be sure that will be the case.

The way he behaved, the things he did, the body language… it all screamed CREEP!