An Irish Lesbian's thoughts and observations…

Archive for the ‘Alesbianspeaks’ Random Thoughts’ Category

Inspired by the Stanford victim… no, survivor. 

I was inspired to write this and face my own demons. The Stanford story has been a massive trigger for me so I was motivated to write about some of my past. I was sexually abused by three different men but there’s one in particular that I just cannot accept wasn’t my fault. I was in no way “asking for it”, this much I know for sure. Yet somehow I canno accept that I was just a child. I was thirteen and fourteen when this man was in my life. I did not want any of this. 
I’m not sure if I ever really liked myself. When some kids would brag about what they were good at or about their latest accomplishment I just wished I could be like them. Wondering daily what it was that made me so incapable of harbouring any talent became a habit. It confused me and left me hoping that I could just fade into the shadows and be forgotten about. The irony in that hope is that at the same time I desperately wanted someone, anyone, to notice me and help me. My innocent mind may not have realised what exactly was wrong at first but my intuition told me that something wasn’t right and my loneliness and discontent compounded these feelings. There was days and weeks when I wished that I would just be ignored, maybe even forgotten about. I felt uncomfortable when others looked at me. Each day when we had to line up for our morning prayers in school I felt inadequate beside my classmates. In class photos I considered myself to be the one that ruined the photo. The one who should be erased.

There was a time in my life, however, when my love of music and writing inspired me to enjoy some creative pursuits. For the first time ever I was seeking the opinions and, hopefully, approval of others. I really wish that I hadn’t. What happened next simply served to remind me that I am safer and possibly even belong hidden from view. Even over ten years later the feelings of regret and shame remain as intense as ever. When that newspaper editor published my first poem in his newspaper I felt something strange. After some contemplation I realised that I was experiencing a sense of pride. For a moment I saw the possibilities in my own potential. That was only a moment and moments quickly fade. Now every time I think about those poems and that newspaper I just think that they were only featured as part of his plan, his game. Flatter the vulnerable child and make her feel like she needs you to help her creatively. Target her interests and tarnish them.

The day I met him in his office it felt like an important moment. It felt like one of those moments in life when you know something big is happening, you may not know what it is yet but the feeling is definitely there. I presumed that I was feeling moved by the moment because it was a point in my life when I was feeling powerful. I was going out and doing something for myself despite all of the reservations I felt about displaying something I had created. It was during the summer holidays that I met him. I felt like it was a summer of change and regrow the before starting second year in school. A new address, newfound confidence and a new pencil case were to be my tools to face the new year. Packing up the contents of my old life I imagined that I was also packing away the memories of my earlier childhood also. It wasn’t that simple. I was still just an innocent child with mature ambitions. On reflection it was actually not a time of power for me. Instead it was a pause right before I actually lost the little power I had regained.

Teachers, guidance counsellors, my GP and my family were all actively encouraging me to not speak about the previous abuse I had endured. The message I received was loud and clear “Shush, don’t talk about that. Keep it to yourself. It is not good to talk about any of that.” That message told me that I was the one that had something to hide. Why? Was it because I had, like I feared, actually done something wrong? I just didn’t understand why I had to hide the effects of the bomb that had exploded in my life. The newspaper editor allowed me to speak forbidden words about the abuse, court cases and the trauma of our legal system. He supported these conversations and listened attentively. It turns my stomach now to think that I ever trusted him with my private thoughts. I revealed my vulnerability to him and showed him how damaged I really was. My words helped him to see the cracks in me more clearly. It didn’t take much to target these cracks and shatter me entirely. He knew that. He was calculating and I’m sure that he absorbed every word and studied my behaviour to ensure that he was fully prepared to successfully get what he wanted. He obtained my silence easily as he knew he would. He so easily slipped into the role of trusty supporter and made himself available anytime.

He familiarised himself with every part of my life. He was right there at a time when I really needed someone to be there for me. He began to feel like a sort of father figure to me. He clearly had other ideas. Looking back, he timed everything so well. He spent time getting to know me before making any inappropriate moves, he won over the trust of my Mom and even of my extended family. He offered to take care of me when my Mom was in work which she gratefully accepted. On one of these occasions I had pneumonia so he told me I could go to sleep for a while in his room while he watched a movie. Just as I began to drift off to sleep I woke up with the weight of him on top of me. Thinking about that experience makes me feel like a piece of meat, him pressing me to the bed while he grinned his body against mine. I didn’t really matter to him, I was just an easy target. I’ve spent so long hating my body as a result of experiences like that. I’m not sure if I even know how to like my body. One thing I do know is that I do not like to be feminine. It’s kinda like I resent my femininity. Three disgusting, terrible men tore me apart before I ever really had a chance in life.

When I push myself to connect with my emotions I can only really associate them with the colour red: to match my overwhelming anger. Unfortunately that anger just tears open my old wounds in painful blasts. It has a wicked tongue that voices an onslaught of additional punishment towards the lost teenager that still dwells within me. I picture her crouched in fear at the centre of a twirling, fierce tornado that she believes she created. Head bowed with shame, terrified to look anyone directly in the eye. She is afraid that they will say that she wanted, even sought, the twisted attention of this man. She desperately wants people to see the invisible chokehold he had on her. She wonders how they could really understand that she said nothing about it yet didn’t want it all to continue when she struggles to understand it. His body pinned her down on his bed, his couch and her couch. He took every opportunity to seize what he desired yet her lips could not form the words she needed to save her. She didn’t want his love of his touches. The first time they were alone he kissed her forehead and said I, then kissed her cheek and said love then kissed her other cheek and said you then moved towards her lips. She backed away and left the scene. He later texted blaming alcohol for his inappropriate actions. It was Sean with his drinking, his excuses and his unwelcome touches all over again. She was somehow transported back to where she was all those months ago. Once again, unable to say a word, somehow paralysed by the actions of another man.
I only finally managed to take action the day he tried to rape me. He had sexually abused me in many other ways but I couldn’t stand the thoughts of another man forcing himself inside me. 

In that courtroom I faced wave after wave of verbal abuse. His solicitor claimed that I was too mentally unstable to be believed. He put forward the theory that I was begging for sexual attention. He attempted to portray me as a liar. His words hit me harder than sticks or stones ever could and I had no one in my corner as I felt like I was falling. My solicitor and barrister in the first case were as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike. His solicitor brought up my past and tried to use that as evidence to back up his theory that I’m a liar. I was able to explain that there was insufficient evidence to pursue a case against my step dad, that did not mean that I was lying about a single word of it. The court experience wore me out and broke me down. While I was writing a victim impact statement with a sergeant before the appeal case was to begin he commented about the changes he witnessed in me. He saw me change from being lively, loud and outspoken to quiet, reserved and nervously shy. As a child I trusted others around me but as an adult I am able to find a dozen reasons to not trust those around me. The proceedings in that room stripped me of the little dignity I had left. Telling strangers about the most private details of my life and having to defend these details took so much out of me. It was bad enough making statements to the Gardaí but this was on a whole different level. This was like being on some kind of weird stage for a part I never auditioned for yet had forced upon me anyway. It was a path I never chose yet found myself on anyway. The solicitors were all men. The judge was a man and so was the court clerk. Yet again, I felt powerless in the presence of men who had all of the power.

It sounds strange but I feel like I would have more sympathy and empathy towards myself if I had tried to fight back. I could possibly feel something except anger, shame and sadness. Accepting the fact that I was groomed, that it really was beyond my control and that it really wasn’t my fault feels impossible. I know it doesn’t make sense but I keep asking myself how I allowed myself to be groomed. How could it have happened to me again? My inner critic tells me that the fine details of my experience would be met with judgement instead of understanding. It tells me that I do not deserve anyone’s understanding. I want so badly to be able to say that I somehow hurt him back but even in court I crumbled.

After I trusted him just to have it backfire yet again I started to think that the people who told me to stay quiet were right. Don’t rock the boat, more silence. Silence was everyone’s answer to an issue that I now know needs anything but silence. It’s a crime that creates shockwaves but without much consequences for the perpetrator. While he continued to work, socialise and go about his daily business, his solicitors were busy using tired tactics to delay the inevitable court case. One of these such tactics involved requesting my medical and counselling records which I had to hand over or see the case thrown out. I obeyed request after request while slowly losing all of my emotional strength. I struggled greatly to complete my school years and I know that the ongoing court case which had taken up residence in the back of my mind blocked my concentration during my final school years. Frequent adjournments took away my voice in a court case I initiated while he got to reach an age he was comfortable retiring at with his reputation intact. It feels like there never really was a light at the end of this long tunnel. The judge took the editor’s poor health, his heart condition, into consideration when considering sentencing. No one took my years of upset, stress, worry and all of the interruptions to my young life into consideration. These facts were conveniently overlooked. That sends the wrong message to the survivor. The only time that the accused is referred to outside the context of the case itself was in an attempt to summon the sympathy of the jury because of his supposed poor health. His character and past were not mentioned at all but yet mine was. I was the one on trial and that cannot be denied.

Even after he was reported to the Gardaí he still continued to text me regularly despite the fact that I did not reply. He drove by my school and texted me to tell me when he saw me around the town. I was already in counselling about past issues when the abuse with him stopped but he was aware of this and knew what time and where I went to counselling. I was no longer allowed to enter or leave that building alone as a precaution. Gardaí persuaded me to keep the same mobile number active because the more he texts, the more evidence we have. He contacted me about my school life and school projects. Nothing was mine and mine alone anymore. He was like poison tainting everything I had. Rules were put in place for every aspect of my life. I was told that I did nothing wrong but it felt like I had. It was decided that I could no longer leave school alone. My Mom started to monitor my phone. Teachers were made aware of the situation which worsened my feelings of embarrassment. It felt like they were all talking about me and what happened to me but for some reason I was not allowed to talk about it. They told me that it was over and to move on but it was far from over then.

On the final day of the second court case I sat in that horribly uncomfortable wooden seat in the courtroom awaiting the verdict of the jury. As the twelve jurors poured in one of them, a lady with a friendly face, smiled at me. I was too drained to return to gesture and I couldn’t help wondering how she was able to smile at me, such a kind smile, after everything she had heard throughout the court proceedings. She looked upon me with the understanding I had never been able to show myself. I experienced a similar feeling of confusion when I was met with empathy from my counsellor after I revealed the most painful details of the court case. After everything I’ve been through it is hard to see why anyone would want to be around me, never mind want to help me. In the past I’ve only ever received negative attention so it is incredibly difficult for me to feel worthy at all of such kindness and understanding.

Honestly sometimes I feel like a broken record. The very opposite of a success story. I feel like a burden and really wish that I had learned to cope by now. I don’t want to fall to pieces and need to be helped over every hurdle yet that seems to be my pattern. Everything is fine and I feel down, things are not so good and I’m ready to totally give up, things are good and I’m ready to bolt because I’m so sure things couldn’t possibly really be this good for me. I’m stronger now and I do have more belief in myself but that took many years and a lot of hard work. Recent hard times have catapulted me straight back to the deep depths of self doubt and self hatred. It consumes so much energy to simply hold my own, keep my power and avoid turning my pain back on myself. When I am challenged I return to my default mode: silence. Compared to others, particularly other women, I feel insignificant and unworthy of the same treatment. No matter how I look, how I dress or how much I’m complimented, I still feel different… dirty even. I always wondered where those feelings came from but now I think it makes sense that they were created by my past. Being treated like an object, violated, hurt, ignored and silenced have left me feeling like I don’t matter even now that those culprits are a distant memory.

When I try harder than others around me with my education or other projects it is because I want to prove that I am worth all of the hassle I cause. In recent times I’m finding it easier to ask for help and I hoped that this would lead me to accepting that I, like everyone else, need help sometimes. I am accepting that need but still beating myself up about it afterwards. Sometimes I wish that I never needed to reach out to others but then I wish that I just felt happier doing so. Being harder on myself than necessary actually does feel worthwhile to me because it leads me to achieve more. I crave the comfort these achievements bring because it makes me feel like I’m doing something right. There’s still times when I find myself scrubbing my skin too hard while washing or having memories being triggered which leave me avoiding the mirror for as long as possible each day. When people show that they like me I can’t help but wonder why.

Last year, as part of my course, I had to do a presentation on a topic of my choice. I wanted to do this presentation on how rape and sexual assault affects the mental health of victims. My tutor shot this down stating that it wouldn’t be a good idea to discuss that in front of my classmates. She was unable to justify it any further but I got the message anyway. Don’t talk about it, don’t rock the boat, don’t mention anything too upsetting. Heaven forbid we raise awareness of the real needs of victims after their assaults. I know that people are aware that rape and sexual assault are all too common. From my own experience, however, I also know that people do not know how to react to these type of disclosures. They want to help but just don’t know how. I wanted to help to educate my peers on exactly what survivors need to get through each day and each hour following an attack. Even years later it can feel like the assault happened just hours ago. We have flashbacks and triggers to thank for the vivid memories that come flooding into our minds at any time, beyond our control, taking away our control again. The world may be more comfortable in silence and ignorance but that’s exactly what is required for these despicable people to gain and keep their power.

Once when the newspaper editor brought me to an old graveyard near a local town, he was standing against me pushing my back against a cold stone wall when an older couple walked past. They didn’t say a word and neither did I. He tried to kiss me one evening on the street in that same town. A young couple say this but said nothing. When I was drinking with some friends when I was a teenager I had to say no three times to a guy who thought every lesbian just needed an experience with a man. My secondary school teacher who told my Mom that I had a crush on him left me feeling self conscious and awkward about something that is completely untrue. When I was seventeen and punched by a random man because I’m a dirty lesbian I felt shame once more. A woman that used to babysit me had adult sons that were more like brothers to me until one of them made an inappropriate comment which prompted me to distance myself from the entire family. When my Mom’s partner commented about my breasts while I was wearing a vest I decided that I no longer wanted to wear anything that was in any way revealing. A few years ago a man stood between my wife and I and said we were lucky enough for him to be interested in a threesome with us. Last year I had to push a drunk man in a nightclub away from me. He said I was so uncool and he only wanted a hug. The guy that I had to defend my friend from who wasn’t taking no for an answer reminded me to remain on guard. Last October when I was at a house party and started to feel uncomfortable I had my exit blocked by two men. They told me to relax and said “It’s okay, we won’t rape you” and left me feeling more nervous than beforehand. When I considered these incidents and my abusers actions I realised that my fears in this uncertain world were completely founded. My wife once said that when people know about past abuse they can use that against you to prey upon your vulnerability, this I’m not sure if but it’s certainly possible. A member of the Gardaí once said “It’s okay, there’s nothing to be afraid of now.” We both knew that wasn’t true. Inappropriate whispers and actions are everywhere and are unavoidable.
This is the world we live in. Stand together, everyone, just stick together.

Celebrations around the world as Ireland says “Yes!” 

I’m sure most of you have already heard but I just thought I’d put up this post regardless. Today, the 23rd of May, marks the start of a bright new future for Ireland. The majority of voters said “Yes” to same sex marriage and it feels absolutely wonderful. I woke up this morning and was still unequal but by four o’ clock all of that changed. 

People of all ages came out in full force to support this referendum. It was my first time voting and I feel so proud to have made history alongside my fellow voters. My civil partner and I went out canvassing for marriage equality and were met with such mixed reactions that I really didn’t know what result to expect today. Doors were slammed in our faces and we were told by some people that they would be voting “No” to our equality. 

The strangest reaction we received was from one gentleman who confidently told us that gay and lesbian people do not exist. Apparently, according to this guy, lesbians are ugly women who can’t get a man and gay men are just guys who don’t have the courage to speak to women. Obviously. 

Over the past few days I’ve felt such a mixture of emotions. Seeing the pictures of people returning home from other countries, making the journey home from college and work and going out to vote both alone and with their families has really moved me. Such support is overwhelming and I will never forget how I felt when the results were announced. My partner and I had our civil partnership almost four years ago and have always felt, in a way, like we were married but now this is different. This is not in our minds or in our hearts. This is our love given the validation it deserves. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

What It Means To Be Trans*

I’m posting this for two reasons. 1. To show my support for the trans* community. 2. To share my recent and one of my first experiences of ignorance towards what it means to be trans.

I was having a group conversation with some people recently when someone from our area who is transitioning was brought up. This individual is undergoing hormone treatment and is transitioning from male to female. This individual has also had surgery to get the breasts she’s always dreamed of having. Anyway, the people I was talking to said this woman was a man pretending to be a woman and that he was dressing as a woman for attention and kept emphasising that because this woman still has a penis she is definitely a man. The worst thing was I don’t even think that these people fully realised how ignorant, damaging and almost cruel their statements were. I told this group that gender is in your mind and doesn’t require the individual to have genitalia that perfectly match their preferred gender. I tried to explain that not every trans person will have bottom surgery and that’s okay because they are still their true gender and should be referred to as such. The fact that someone can transition from being male to female, still have a penis and be referred to as a woman completely baffled these people and I think they still walked away thinking that it couldn’t be true and that if you have a penis you must be a man regardless of how you present yourself.

The conversation then extended to either trans people should tell people what genitalia they have before dating them. This, again, divided opinions. I think this is completely up to each trans person and how comfortable they feel disclosing that information.

I tried to appeal to these people by asking them to imagine what it would feel like to be born into the wrong body. I also asked them to imagine how devastating it would be to be presenting as the woman you always knew you are while taking hormones and after undergoing surgery just to still be called a man. This still didn’t really work.

This conversation gave me a very small taste of what it’s really like to be trans and it opened my eyes to how judgemental people really can be. I know it may not sound like it but this group of people are generally quite open minded yet when their idea of what it means to be male or female was challenged they completely closed the doors of their minds and almost refused to even consider any new information. I truly empathise with the trans community and am furious that people who think this way are out there. Maybe it’s simply a lack of education or maybe it’s blatant transphobia. I walked away from that conversation still angry that people could put down another human being so easily. Just know that you all have an ally in me.

Scars Reveal my Ghosts

I was starting to wonder why my old ghosts were haunting me so vividly recently but this morning I realised why. March is just around the corner and with that comes the memories of March 2006. That month brought me to my knees as my whole world as I knew it completely changed. When I think back to that month I just remember feeling so fucking lonely. I remember moving house too much to escape the terrors that followed us. I remember sitting on the edge of a rock on a hill near my house with nothing to accompany me except a pen and notebook. I remember being lonely all of the damn time back then. One of the biggest problems I had was my own feelings towards reaching out for help. I felt so bad for reaching out to others that I started to hate myself for doing it. I felt like a heavy burden despite reassurances on the contrary. I self harmed and got drunk because it was easier. Even after I had my list of emergency contacts and after many counselling sessions I still turned to unsafe coping methods. Why? Does that mean I didn’t heal or that I fucked up?

I still believe that my list of contacts and all of the amazing people who dedicated so much of their precious time to me were my saving grace. Without them I could have been so much worse, so much more self destructive. I told myself that I had moved on enough to cope without talking to anyone but in reality I had simply gotten better at hiding my thoughts and ignoring what’s happening right inside of me.

I really want to be different. I want to the type of person that doesn’t spend so much time climbing up a steep and painful hill just to go tumbling back down it. Scars should heal and never be ripped open again, they shouldn’t part to reveal such darkness. I hoped that one day I would just be okay and like it had never happened. That day may never come but I think I’m okay with that. This is just me. “Okay” is my “good”.

Coping Methods – A Contacts List

Child sexual abuse is still such a taboo but I can’t help but want to talk about it. I’m 23 years old this year and I am also nine years free from abuse. When I say I am nine years free from abuse I am not including the years I spent battling for justice through the Irish legal system. Nine years really isn’t that long in a way and it’s easy to forget that I was gripped by controlling and disgusting men for the majority of my life. Surviving those nine years involved a lot of coping mechanisms, I’m going to tell you about my list in this post.

When I was younger, maybe about sixteen years old, I made a list of people to contact if and when I needed to. Some of the names on the list were of people who I could really trust and others were good to have a laugh with. I felt lucky to have so many people to call upon. I felt like I had a safety net in place with so many people happy to help me but now that list is so much smaller yet that doesn’t make me feel like I’m alone. It actually gives me independence to stand alone when the world is weighing me down, strength to stand tall despite all else and wisdom to see that just because someone does not remain in your life permanently does not mean that they should be crossed off of your list.

That list got me through some difficult times. No, difficult isn’t the right word actually. It got me through the moments when my little world was spinning out of my control, when I was carrying on like the walls I built weren’t crumbling around me and like I wasn’t ready to just give up on everything. That list was once my lifeline and just because the list is smaller it doesn’t mean that it is now something I no longer appreciate. My list was one of my safer ways of coping. I must tell you all that the people on this list didn’t actually know they were on the list or even that such a list existed and probably don’t know how much of an impact they had on my life. People put me in hell but other people helped me to find my way back.

My Conflict with Trust

I would happily encourage people to trust others most of the time but my own personal issues prevent me from following this advice. I always want to and hope to see the good in others and I try so hard to find it. Everyone has some good in them, right?

My greatest struggle is to be able to trust others knowing they will one day walk away. Knowing they could become a stranger or worse still betray you. I hate the fact that I could pour so much trust into someone just to have it all taken for granted or abused. It takes a lot to trust someone and sometimes so little for them to forget that.

On the flip side, life’s too short to spend so much time and energy keeping yourself hidden away. I guess there’s pieces of yourself that are worth hiding and others that aren’t worth the effort of hiding. It’s an amazing release sometimes to just have a rant, let loose and share your thoughts so is it really so harmful? That is my personal trust debate anyway…

Why I’m starting to hate shopping…

There’s no denying that we live in a very money driven world. In every shop there’s dozens of items for sale that we really don’t need yet are constantly bought anyway. On every sale day there’s people fighting for the best price for more and more items. I’m guilty of buying unnecessary items too of course. I’m sure we all are. Recently however I had a thought that I really disliked. I actually got sad that I didn’t have more money. I got annoyed that so many items are so difficult to afford and that coping financially isn’t easy for me. Maybe I was having these feelings because of the commercialism of the festive season or maybe it was just niggling at me anyway but I definitely didn’t like being annoyed
about something which is technically so fickle. I have a roof over my head, enough clothes and enough food so isn’t that good enough?

I always try to operate under the rule of “A bargain isn’t a bargain unless you are going to use it” but sometimes I mess up in the heat of the moment. I see something, it fits and feels good on and then I realise that I don’t need another t shirt or when am I even going to wear this shirt anyway? I found myself thinking a few months back that I needed a pair of shoes ‘in case I ever need them’. What? If I need them I’ll get them then, simple. We are constantly being bombarded by ads telling us we need the latest technology and the newest clothes. No, you don’t. Buy whatever you really want and if that happens to be the latest technology then great, off you go, but if not then save yourself some money and stick to what you have because if you’re aiming to keep up with the latest trends then you’ll eventually start to feel like you’re just going around in circles. My best advice to you on this issue is to just try not to let money bring you down. Don’t allow yourself to feel bad about something that doesn’t really matter at the end of the day.

Spend more time with those you love doing what you love and I’m sure you’ll feel way better than you did chasing items you think you’ll love.

Take care guys,

Does Happiness Have a Recipe?

It’s difficult to keep throwing out blog posts but especially when you are your own worst critic. I’m critical of myself and my own work to the point of just being downright harsh. Right now however I’m putting those feelings aside in an attempt to reconnect with you all.

What’s been happening for me? I gained two new qualifications and completed two creative writing courses so I’m leaving 2014 feeling accomplished and proud of myself. I set goals for myself and was lucky enough to fulfill my own wishes. The resolution to do this came during the Summer so I also learned that not every great resolution starts on January 1st.

I was foolish enough to think that items were going to make me happy. Then I figured that people might make me happy. Now I get it. I really genuinely get it. I was already happy just the way I was/am without being surrounded by people who drag me down or make me feel bad about myself. I enjoy owning certain items but that enjoyment could never compare to the happiness I feel in the company of my wife. I once wished that I’d be surrounded by a dozen people I could call my friends but when I actually had this I was more miserable than ever. Moral of this story: I don’t need to follow a recipe to make me happy and I certainly won’t find this happiness in others. Luckily, I found it in myself. If you find yourself thinking that having loads of people in your life will make you happy then think again because it may not be as simple as that. I’m looking forward to the future but I’ve started planning it rather than hoping for good things to happen. I’m loving taking control over my journey.

How Much it Means to Matter

Dear friend,

Tomorrow is spaghetti day which is something I’ve been looking forward to even though I was the one who decided it should happen on a Tuesday. I enjoy looking forward to things even if its something as simple as a meal that I’m going to cook myself. I’m not feeling well physically tonight but my mind is at ease. I’ve been cleaning and throwing out unwanted clutter which always seems to lift my mood. Most people get a buzz from getting something new but I actually get more of a thrill from getting rid of things. Even though these items aren’t actually cluttering up anything I still like to call it decluttering because it helps me to feel like there is more order and organisation surrounding me. How are you doing? Is life treating you well and is it everything you want it to be?

Not too long ago I was feeling like any effort I was making to change my life and better myself was going unnoticed or wasn’t good enough. Perhaps this was a bit of a silly idea but it was a feeling which consumed my thoughts greatly back then. I thought that I’d made bad choices career wise but now I see that I’m heading in the exact direction that I’m destined for. I love being able to help people and make meaningful connections with others so a caring profession is right up my street. I’m going to make a difference, I promise. I see that I can be good for others and I can be a trustworthy, inspiring figure in someone’s life.

Why do I want to make such a difference, you ask. I grew up feeling invisible and unwanted. I felt turned away from social groups, family and my own father. I felt like teachers expected too much and couldn’t see how much help I needed. Friends who promised a lifetime of loyalty when we were teenagers gave up on me so easily so I figured in the end that I didn’t have an important place in the world. I felt that my existence was unnecessary and I don’t want anyone else to feel that way so I’m leaving my mark on this world through helping others. It may sound selfish in ways but I genuinely want to see others live their lives how they want to and I want to help other people to find happiness. I hate seeing other people experiencing the same deep emotional pain I felt for so long. Surely I can help to change the path of at least one person.

I look forward to making more meaningful connections with people and having deep conversations. Life left me frayed around the edges but my core remains warm sending flames of life to my worn exterior. Life is a roller coaster, friend, but always hold on tight and you will make it through anything. That’s what I learned anyway. Things get so much better than you’ll ever believe.

Best wishes,

Halloween Memories

Happy Halloween everyone!

Honestly this is my least favourite holiday but I think that’s because it feels like a boring commercialised event that’s lost so much of it’s fun throughout the years. I might be just saying that because I’m looking at it through an adult’s eyes. One undeniable positive is the fact that it’s a day which encourages eating chocolate. Any day which promotes eating chocolate can’t be all bad, right?

When I was about 8 or maybe 9 years old I was trick or treating with a friend. We stopped at the house of a gentle old man who lived alone and when he opened the door, as tradition dictates, we shrieked a chorus of “Trick or treat” with our excitement making our voices more high pitched than intended. We held out our little treat bags expectantly but this old guy just said “Oh what charity are you collecting for?”. We looked at each other and despite her mask I could tell that my friend was just as confused as I was. We told him that we weren’t collecting for charity and that we were there because it was Halloween. He had no idea it was Halloween that day and didn’t even realise it was coming up soon. He grabbed some loose change and divided it between us. He was so apologetic too. Looking back on the whole scene both sadness and amusement can be found in it. It was actually quite pitiful that someone that had lived for so many years had gotten to the stage in his life where each day had begun blending into another. It’s an unusual memory of Halloween but it’s one that’s never left me.

Have a great Halloween everyone!! I hope you have a great time and make some wonderful memories.. 🙂

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