Dust off the Ashes

Last night was a big night, and a lot of my brokenness came out. See, I occasionally give off the signal that I’m a wild bitch when I get upset and to most people it’s quite off-putting and I understand that perfectly why it would be. It’s not attractive and it begs the question of why to stay in such a toxic environment where the triggers are many and varied. What most people don’t want to consider and it’s hard to talk about why I’m like that. Underneath all this collected nature and power and sheer will and tunnel vision is a person who’s hurting so badly.

There’s a tumour inside me from decades of abuse and I’ve not survived it in a sense. It put me back so many years in my social development and emotional understanding of the world and it just makes me confused and scared. I’ve always done what I thought was necessary to propagate my existence and the first time I got respect was when I fought back. To someone like me, who was feeling entirely alone and unloved, this became the key. It wasn’t great, but it was my first taste of justice. It’s hard to make friends with that mentality.

What I’m trying to say is, I want to get out of the survivor mindset because that’s all I’ve been for a while. Some might argue that what I survived is nothing worthy of being called survival, that’s their opinion and their life path. I, for one, believe in myself and that I can do more than what I am now to improve and grow from this little messy corner of an otherwise pretty remarkable mind. Another day, another step forward, a new leaf in my story.



She’s lost in the haze,

Somewhere between knowing and guessing

She’s lost in her heart,

Trying to find a way out of the rubble

 She’s hopeful anyway,

Somehow she knows she’s surrounded by love

She’s never been happier,

She’s never alone and always submerged.

She learned to call out,

It’s alright not to know, it’s always good to try

              She’s coping better,

They are teaching her kindness and patience 

She found friends,

They seemed so close regardless of distance

She’s learning to love,

Because these were things she never truly knew

She’s coming home,

Every step was a mystery, further or closer

She’ll be free soon,

She understood each new line would bring her closer 

She feels the love,

As if someone was whispering on the wind.

She tried to find her,

Somewhere nearby was her sense of self, just out of sight

She waited there,

Where she felt the tug and strain of purpose

She couldn’t see yet,

And that’s just something that would have to wait. 

She was within and without her self,

Always searching for a ghost,

A disembodied voice,

A lost home.



Bit by bit, my foundation is crumbling. I stay up and late and wake feeling restless. I suppose that’s the consequences of my actions. Still, it could be worse, I did decide to rise and write after all. I’m slowly finding something that drives me forward. I’m learning new skills which are inspiring my book/game. A small fire has rekindled there. I’m praying it could be nurtured into a beacon over the holidays. It was my life before and although my life has more to offer than this book alone, there is a whole bunch that has to happen before I relinquish my responsibility to such a lifeline.

There are so many things I’m able to do now. It’s only a matter of sitting down to do them. If I weren’t so afraid of the burden ahead of me, I’m sure I would have already started long ago. I don’t know what about this 3D project throws me off so far. When I wrote, 70,000 words accumulated and it all felt natural. Maybe it’s the fact that writing may be a several stop process but it’s all roughly the same task (plan, write, read, edit, read, edit, so forth). The process in 3d is much more demanding and varied and maybe that’s what I prefer.

I want to share this story with people. This story is more than just a game to me. It’s a fire in my heart. It was a group of friends on which to rely when it felt like there was none. It was a journey built to teach and inspire. All my stories are. There’s still so much to do and I feel this is my divine duty. Sure, it’s not impressive in comparison to disaster relief volunteers and doctors but it’s me and for the love of everything good, I have to stop comparing myself to other people in such a negative way.

Passion is a spark, hard work builds the fire.

Is this Therapy?

I wonder what will tumble out of my today. As this exercise becomes part of a very handy routine, I start running out of ideas as to what to write about and this becomes more of a self-therapy session. That’s not such a bad thing, right?

There are some things I can share with a blank piece of paper that I don’t think I would be able to share with even my best friend. It’s not that I don’t trust other people, it’s that I don’t trust myself. I’m not the best with words, funnily enough. My mum used to stutter, profusely, and although my own version isn’t as life consuming, my tongue is still much less forgiving than my pen or keyboard. It’s a safer place where I don’t have to filter and I can move at my own pace. Unfortunately, this is a world of the spoken word.

I believe that’s why I retreated so often into my books, it was a more comfortable environment where I felt I could flourish in a place that was more accepting of my personality. I have been told that I was a ‘problem child’ and was odd my whole childhood. Truth be told, I had endless anxiety which I ran from with escapism. I still do that sometime, just try to slip away for a few hours. I’m glad and dismayed to report the reasons have changed.

In high school, no matter who I adopted as a friend, I never fit. There’s no way around it. There was no amount of interest or effort could inspire a feeling of belonging me. I will admit to a sense of duty and certainly, a few moments of depth with long-term acquaintances but nothing like what I have now. This most affected me most in my last 2 year of general schooling.

Not even my love at the time could fill that endless void. I thought that maybe it was just some hormonal imbalance and it would just go away but the anxiety started when I first came to Australia. That feeling never did go away and I still find myself in a position where I sometimes feel lonely but at least I now know I’m loved. Secondly, it’s okay to make mistakes and best of all, just try as hard as you can and you can do it.

I suffered much stress from not being the best at something, sometimes going as such great lengths as completely changing whatever it is I was aiming for. I hadn’t known what I wanted yet, just that I though that would make things a little easier on ordinary little me.

I thought that, if… now it doesn’t even make sense what I wanted… I think I wanted to be someone else… being me didn’t really earn the love of my parents. Although they were great parents, I somehow didn’t always feel, impressive to them. In comparison to my bother, I felt like a rusty old van parked next to a porsche.What can I say, maybe at the time, I wasn’t as conventionally awe-inspiring at the time…

Nowadays, I find my parents old-fashioned. The stereotypes that fill their mind belong to an age that passed long ago. Now, what would be lovely is that I prove to myself that I’m right by completing my course, doing well, landing an awesome job and earning truckloads of money, all while being my very own self (if that fails, I’ll settle on world domination, seems much easier).

Masterpiece Sculpture

Good morning, world! I must admit, my train of thought crashed after that sentence and I couldn’t think of anything clever or entertaining to write so I’ll stop trying to pretend that that’s my way of doing things. I mean, sometimes I feel like the me that I am is not… good or acceptable enough sometimes.

Whenever we watch TV shows, there’s never a character who’s like me. This might appear odd some people but I’m a person who learns visually. The more I consider myself in relation to everything from everyday conversation, to pop culture, the more unique I feel and this isn’t a good thing to me. I mean, it’s great and all to embrace your inner self and share your personal gift with the world but I’m a little lost.

I’ll be honest, I’m still not completely okay with myself and although it is becoming less and less of an uphill battle, it continues to infuriate me to not consider myself a perfectly great individual. On one side, a few of the most important people in my life have treated me like I wasn’t the sandwich they ask for and promptly asked what was wrong with me when I didn’t fit their ideal description. I think that’s got a lot to do with it.

God, how I hated it. You start to learn to hate yourself when you don’t fir that stereotype you were imagined to turn into. You feel like you’re not good enough or can’t be because that’s not you and there’s no form of humane conditioning or medical procedure that will make you someone else to the core of your being. That just doesn’t happen.

And I don’t think I would have the heart to do that to myself, had the procedure been readily available.

I guess everyone goes through that, in some form or fashion, where your individuality in being altered by the opinion of someone you care about. I mean, I could be doing to others what has been done to me. What does that make me then?

You spend a lot of time going in circle, throwing punches. It’s not a healthy thing. I have plenty of people telling me that I’m heard-working (when I want to be), and reliable. They say I have a good, brave heart. That’s got to count for something, right? If this many quick friends are telling me this, it’s got to be true, hasn’t it?

Sometimes the opinion of people you don’t really know are better than the opinions that you do know. Not because their opinions are more welcome but as I, an overly-open individual, express myself most profusely and am granted the privilege to be accepted without premeditation, there is seldom a more precious gift than that.

Sure, I’m lazy and I’m passionate at the same time, I have a snowball temper and few things I haven’t consider but I’m a great me. And Me is pretty great. I will continue to carve out this person I’m steadily discovering and learn to love them as they are, not what they were previously ‘required’ to be. I’ll get to that place someday, I know it.

My Very Short Pursuit of Happiness

I feel a certain kind of sadness that I can’t shake off quite as easily as other days. I think it’s just a chemical reaction in my brain which I can only break down by analysing. Nonetheless, that brought to my own personal journey in the pursuit of happiness. I was drawing on the shower screen while showering and tried to make myself some happiness.

First, I drew a smiley face (which seemed very mediocre) so I gave it a silly round nose. Then I was confronted with a fear of drowning, which perhaps I am in a state of dread that is dragging me ‘under the water’. I drew waves and right before I felt the urge to draw a person calling for help, I drew a stick snorkeler instead. There was a pretty cool fish too.

I guess what I’m trying to say is” this great pursuit of happiness is not only on our doorstep but under our noses, or even on our shower screens. I think many of the films recently have given us a very misguided vision of the simplicity of happiness. This isn’t a ‘hero’s journey’ premise. This is life, a series of chains of events which seem both within and out of our control. Happiness is not a formulae or a 6-step guide, it’s always with us, even if we can’t see it.

I’ve read many a self-help article/book/pamphlet/podcast/the list goes on and found that many have a common feature in their understanding of how happiness can be reeled in as easily as a breath of air. This single thing we all possess is a sense of gratitude. Sure, this is something everyone can tap into on a certain level but is it felt in the liver? (Reference to Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Taylor)

I guess that, I myself, as well as many individuals, when encountered with the doldrums of relentless depressive state, the natural instinct is to face the spectacle in all assumptions that you will submit to the beast holding you captive, away from everything. I believe I may have done something differently this morning.

I mean, I’m just like any other person on this planet but I found something that works for me. I have been doing that a lot lately, not being afraid to dissect and actually have a look under my own range hood. Who knew that my sense of happiness could be awakened by something as simple as a Harry Potter spell concept?

Oppression or Deception?

I’m not sure if things are going to continue well or I’m going to get yanked out of this beautiful dream. Nothing bad has happened to me for a while and as I’ve heard, I may be overdue. I don’t know why such a fear consumes me. I seems irrational to grow such a ridiculous paranoia but maybe I can change it into something healthier. I guess I’m trying to stop the repetition of previous blunders and grow a sense of vigilance rather than pretending the problem doesn’t exist.

Although, very well sounding, it doesn’t fail to cause some tremors. I find myself repeating, “I’m not a bad person; I’m just a little unstable’. I think this is in relation to my emotional state. It’s quite a negative thing to say considering I’ve cut so much of that out of my life recently. What’s wrong with passionate? What’s wrong with understanding the depths and heights? Seeing as that I don’t harm others when I’m ‘unstable’, I think such a term should be rendered obsolete. I’m not a patient in an asylum, I’m human being who’s not afraid.

As I’ve found, people who put too much energy into the opinions of others tend to be very depressed individuals. I remember going through a great deal of that in years even earlier than this. It was then difficult to understand that everyone had a different view of what was acceptable and even praise-worthy. A nondescript ideal was put on a pedestal and out of my sight. Now I realise I don’t need whatever was up there. I’m on my own pedestal of sorts. I’m not perfect, mind you, but I had to go a fair way to find out I was more than okay.

It’s funny how beating ourselves up has become such a part of our society today, whether it be on the cover of magazines or news articles. I guess envy is the fashion of the day. I wonder if this is because of the capitalism and being rich enough to purchase exclusive wonders that has caused such disruptions in others’ sense of self?

I wonder if there was something I was missing when I felt I wasn’t as collected as other people. Unfortunately, that sort of control is something I can’t afford had the surgery been available. So, I’ve either got to learn to keep myself under wraps, or learn to sway my emotions in such a way that they aren’t aware they’re being shifted. Oppression or deception? As they say, if you’re not with us, you’re against us.

Well Done

I feel like I’m growing, quickly, like a time-lapsed tree from David Attenbourgh’s documentaries. It’s usually at this point that something horrendous happens which puts out the fire and I revert back to my old self. I’m afraid of that, so afraid. I’m building myself up and am surrounding myself with people who are encouraging this growth. However, I just feel like the stakes of disappointing everyone are just higher. The more visible potential I allow myself, the harder the fall the next time I begin to give myself some leeway. I guess what I’m really afraid of is… I’m afraid to fail… again.

I’ve heard the saying often and I will repeat it here so my next paragraph is not out of context: “If you didn’t try, you’ve already failed.” There is some sort of comfort in not trying. It’s by far the easier life and I think I’ve overindulged in it. Now that I feel it is time to pick up my emotional growth from the stunted 15-year-old and shimmy the process forward as fast as I can between all the awkward nooks and crannies of an unattended adolescence, I can’t really say I regret the decision.

Of the many thing I have to be proud of now (especially in comparison to before), I’m making the friends which are healthy to have, rather than the ones I think I want. Sure, I’m still trust to the point of borderline naivety but this is also what has made me sweet and kind and sometimes that is far more valuable than I can imagine.

I’m glad that after all these years of tempering, I’ve maintained a gentle heart. I can still accommodate the emotional needs of others. Furthermore, the right to their feelings is no longer something I demand as a gift of understanding. Even in the rare circumstance I end up in a duel, I have already show myself I can hold my own blades. Granted, they did not hold till the end but I surprised myself at the expertise with which I utilised my weapons after such a period of time in a dormant state.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m proud. I am proud to hold these virtues. My sense of character is evolving and my habit as well as my priorities are shifting to a more able individual. For the sake of association with my mother, I would have to say that maturity has nothing to do with it. It’s simply necessity that I’ve acknowledged now that my sight reaches beyond the next few hours. We only see so much when we’re young, after all.


I’m finding every morning is an exercise in itself. Although I don’t really have a person who could punish me for not doing the thing I do by this wonderful application, it’s still something whispering into my ear. The only comfort I find here is that these were my own decisions and they are now presented to me is such a way that is difficult to refuse on the basis of my duty to self. I suppose that’s something to be proud of. My priorities are showing through and I’m proud of what I find important, even if I do stumble. It’s not often that I get to hear myself say that so perhaps its for the better.

I’m starting to seriously wonder if my personal growth was stunted at one point because other areas of my life were more important. If so, is this not the journey I would have made, if it weren’t for the event that led up to this point? I think that’s a bit of a dramatic point to claim. I reckon that as I mature, I gain a better understanding of who I am and how I work. I begin to acknowledge my flaws on a much deeper level and celebrate myself much more often. I’m not a bad child, just one who had things a little different, like everyone else.

It’s a good thing to find myself here, surrounded by people who are willing to accept me as I grow. I didn’t understand a lot earlier and everyone just made it a touch more difficult back then… I believe now that this may have been without intention. Who could have guess my fragility under all my absurdity? Well, that’s we have the saying ‘kids are cruel’, right? Because children cannot comprehend the depth of the damage they cause and rely on base instinct to experiment.

Still, I’m here today and I’ve somehow made a name for myself perhaps not on financial terms and I am not famous in any way or form but I have a better understanding of myself and that in itself in an infinity’s worth of anything. I never thought I would find such peace and content for such a long amount of time. My vision is less blurred and I feel a little more whole before I even bring Danny into the picture.

On the topic of our relationship, it’s definitely much healthier than the relationships I had previously. He is more like the DLC for a game rather than a necessary function. I think he had some part in teaching me to be okay with myself. He reassures me that he loves me constantly with words but he shows me its worthwhile loving me with his actions. I remember at the very beginning…

I believed that being loved was more of a privilege than a right and acted accordingly. I cost many tears and hours of heartbreak because the toll I paid seemed too great for what I was receiving. It stripped muscle from bone and heart from soul and so I lay in a pile and rotted. I let that happen to me because I didn’t know back then someone would love me for me, not just bits and pieces, so I contorted myself in order to fit that vision. After some time, I forgot who I was before. I also forgot why I was that person before that, the situation wasn’t much better.

5 years, 4 partners, 3 psychiatrists and countless verbal fights later, I’m here: Sitting in a little room, comfortably digging up some of my past. I guess it was its own kind of time capsule, waiting for the personal apocalypse to end so that new life may burst forth. I guess hope does live in the darkest places, even for a loveless, young, confused teenager.

Once again, it wasn’t a hard life, especially in comparison to most but it was my journey and that made all the depths and heights much richer than any novel I could read or write. I’ve found my place in reality, and now I can finally bounce between my mind and the outside world. This was my dream, in a subconscious way. Now I need to reflect on myself and find two new dreams. One for here, and one for wherever it is I’m going. Wish me luck.

Currency Exchange

I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself. I feel confident with my progress and then I waste my time. There’s so much potential but it feels like holding water. No matter how much I accomplish, it’s a like a sweater being pulled apart by a single thread, unravelling like a heap on the floor. No matter how much I try to be happy about whatever efforts I put into my life, I just seem to loosen up and fall apart and require to start from scratch again.

So, beating myself up gets stuff done but is it ridiculously unhealthy; celebrating my success, although is a healthy practice, I overindulge in. What do I do?

Well, what really help is when I have a plan. Not a vague, if this, then this, but a set parameters over which I don’t let myself cross. I have a set of things I need to get done and if I complete them, I receive a reward, and not just access to a better me but some kind of incentive.

As Dr Phil has said many a time, I have a currency and I think it’s about time I found what it is. There’s also the matter that I easily run from my problems and responsibilities by so deeply ignoring them that I forget about it. I realise this is a real problem in my life and the further I go, the higher chance I have of Danny being harmed by this later on… I don’t think that would be fair of me so I’ll try to stop it from happening. I guess that’s my currency then, huh?

Danny and his thoughts of me. He’s my one-man band, my superhero. He’s the one who still cheers loud and proud even though he’s passed out. He’s even happy to hear I’m writing. He really cares. Like a lot. I wonder if he ever thinks of me as weak because some of my sloth crawls out and takes hold so often. I wonder if he thinks I’m too proud and stupid.

Everyone else’s bad opinion I will bear but when the light of my life thinks of ill of me, is that not a shame to obtain? I want him to proud of me but I don’t know how to break the habit. All the habits. It’s just that I’m not strong enough or focused enough, doesn’t matter how many system I employ or mindsets I adopt. I’ll always be me: carefree, wild, and unreliable me.

I feel such a sense of duty but do I take it seriously, not until the pressure is on. I need to put myself in a pressure tank with some air time. A lot less air time. There are so many thing I wanted to achieve. Maybe I need a perspective on it that I can use and understand. Maybe I need something that hits me and hits me hard. I’ve softened and I have lots of wall room. Time to throw paint across their walls and bring those muscles back.