2 Years On

It’s been around 2 years since I’ve posted on this blog. 

As I’m writing this, it’s 6:44am and as per usual I’m sitting with my back against the bathroom door. Old habits die hard, eh? I’ve always liked bathrooms, it’s the one place I find my family won’t barge in. Private, you know?

I’m 19 now, nearly 20. Since my last post I’ve had 1.5 heart breaks, read a whole lot of books, and learnt how to make (albeit depressingly average) macaroni cheese.

I don’t know who’s reading this, or if anyone is. If someone is, then I hope you’re having a good day.

Signing out, Ceola x 

Sick Jokes With Myself

Don’t you find it funny how a solitary word can take you on a journey back to a place in time from so long ago? A simple sound can let you revisit a moment in such clarity, such depth that you almost feel yourself clutching onto anything in sight for dear life, in that attempt to grasp to reality. And then the sinking feeling starts, you try to let go of reality and return to your daydream only to realise that maybe, it was reality that had a hold of you all along.

Cruel, cruel reality.

Whilst hopelessly attempting to scrawl down notes in my music class today, I was sat down beside a boy: Cookie. We were sitting down, just messing about and as a joke, he called me “gremlin”.

And it was then. It hit me like a cold, hard brick dropping straight to the stomach. I had to catch my breath and regain composure in a desperate attempt to keep my facial expression calm and unreadable. It took me back to a late night phonecall in summer that I had with my ex best friend/ex boyfriend, Tahj. We must have stayed up until 7am on the phone that night.

I didn’t expect to feel like that, I didn’t expect to feel at all. I lost the greatest guy I had in my life this summer, and now he’s gone.

He’s gone. It’s gone. We’ve gone.

What If I Told You

What if I told you that the basic foundations that I once stood so surely upon we’re disintegrating beneath my feet?

What if I told you I don’t believe in love anymore?

What if I told you I was aching, aching to feel something? Aching to feel anything.

What if I told you I was breaking apart day by day, and I can’t take this anymore?

Well I wouldn’t tell you that, would I. We don’t talk anymore.

Every Curve of Your Mind

“I cannot see you getting married”

I feel like Maurice is toying with me.

Earlier we had a conversation about relationships, and he said to me “I cannot see you getting married”. This was in a debate about relationships, he was for and I was against. I was saying stuff like “everyone gets hurt” and he argued “no matter what age you are, someone always might get hurt” and “you don’t have to rely on someone in a relationship, you can still be independent”.

I don’t know what he’s thinking, but it’s like one second he’s implying that he likes me and the second he says that. He’s very good at disguising his emotions, too good in fact. I wish I could see into his mind, every detail, every pattern, every thought, every word and every curve of his mind. It’s not like I’d get into a relationship with him, or anyone for that matter; quite frankly I don’t see why I’m stressing so much.

Maybe it’s the fact that he is the only person nowadays who can lift my mood as easily as if it was a leaf browned by the harshness of Autumn. Wherever you are right now, despite the fact that you’ll never see this, I hope you’re sleeping well. Goodnight Maurice.

With all my love, your best friend, Ceola.

If I Were Me

When I was younger I used to imagine that there was an underground channel from my room to another world. I used to fall asleep wishing Harry Potter and Hermione Granger would befriend me in my sleep. I used to look forward to bedtime, you know. It was the time that I could drift away into my own happiness.

Used to.

Past tense.

Recently I haven’t been myself. I’m beginning to listen to different music, speak differently, act differently, treat others differently. I’ll admit, a lot things have gotten to me; maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ve been pushed too far this time. Maybe I’ve cared too much to carry on caring, because by caring I’ve just made myself vulnerable.

I’ve been confused. And in this pit of confusion, I’ve found myself forgetting to keep my feet on the ground, and now it’s like I’ve floated up so high that I can’t get back down.

I can’t, or I won’t?

What is this? Where am I in myself? I feel like I can’t open up any more. It’s like that feeling when you’re locked in your house, and you’re desperately searching for an open window just to give yourself room to breathe. When you’re frantically running round, holding onto the handle of the door, pulling as hard as you can – but it stands firm, despite your intentions.

Your tainted, rusted intentions that have become jarred into the ground with time.

I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating in myself. As I progress writing this, I’m locked in my study trying my very best not to break down, delete this post, and let tears escape. 

If there was a key I could bury through my skin to prise myself open, I would use it, I swear. It’s like I’ve lost the key to my own front door. So familiar with myself, yet such an inability to master and control it.

What am I turning into? The only thing I am sure of, is that my 13 year old self would look with scorn and disgust at what I’ve become.

I wouldn’t be my own friend, if I were me.

He Said.

“You’re the only person I completely trust.”

Confused.  Fear of the unknown. Trust Issues. Scared. Commitment. Pressure.

Unsure.

Smiling. Butterflies. Feelings. Happy. Meaning. Overwhelming. Love. Truth.

Unsure.

To Be. To Sense. To Feel. To Fear. To Run. To Realise. To Linger. To Touch. To Appreciate. To Want. To Care. To Need. To Love. To Have. To Encircle. To Smile.

To Be Unsure.

An Open Letter To My Abuser

Hello,

It’s been a while since we brought this up – recently our conversations have been filled with minor, unimportant things; quite frankly, avoidance of certain topics.

Topics like, how you sexually abused me. How you covered my mouth with your hands and left scars – inside and out. How you beat me up, told me I was worthless, threatened to kill me. Topics like how you look at me still, as an aqaintance by force, and smile with that same old sadistic twinkle in your eye.

So how about we talk about it? Firstly, just to let you know, I do blame myself. I blame myself for not telling anyone until now, nearly 13 years later. I blame myself for not screaming louder, for giving up and not fighting back. For giving in to pressure and hiding under the covers for so long – hopelessly trying to pretend none of it ever happened. But it did. And I know now, that will never change.

I wonder, sometimes. I wonder will you tell your wife about how you savagely beat up your little sister – and took away every shred of her dignity. I wonder do you scorn rapists, bullies, murderers, thieves – or do you abide with them? I wonder if you even remember how you treated me. Remember that time when you pushed me into the deep end of the swimming pool when I couldn’t swim, brother? No? What about the time you held my head to the corner of the bedside table and smashed my skull against it? Or the time when you forced me up against the wall in the bathroom on a “family holiday” and whispered in my ear, telling me you were going to rape me? I do. I remember it in every nightmare, every sleepless night, every moment I’m home alone with you.

I want you to know that in 1 year, 1 month and 24 days from today I will never see you again – as I will have turned 18. If you email me, call me, text me; do not expect a reply. I loathe you, your values, your cowardice, and your inhability to even apologise. It is your fault that I have such issues now. Issues with self esteem, issues with trust, issues with self worth. I hope, that I will never have to encounter you again – and you become an illusion that I learn to block out of my memory. May God provide you with forgiveness, for I will not. Do not venture towards any future events that I will be a part of – that includes my wedding, my children’s baptisms, my future workplace, or anything of the sort. I have no time for corrupted beings in my life.

I pray for your children, and I hope they have a strong mother. They will find no integrity in their father.

Sincerely, your dearest sister, Ceola.