"Here you are,

Down on your knees.
Trying to find air,
To breathe again."

Hear me, please.

I. am. tired.

Confused

Real or not real?

Real, or Not Real?

REAL OR NOT REAL?!?

I Dreamed A Dream...

"... of times gone by. When hope was high, and life worth living. I dreamed that dreams would never die, I dreamed that love would be forgiving.

But the tigers growled at night, with their voices soft as thunder..."

When hope was high, and life worth living. I dreamed dreams. I now I've stopped, and I'd barely realised. Too used to it not happening, too certain of nothing.

Is it really time to dream again? Is there still hope, and life worth living?

Real or Not Real?

Right now, is why I need to play this game.

The scary things are All About Me.

Not Real. 

She's angry/disgusted/concerned by me.

Not Real.

Everyone knows all my worst secrets.

Not Real.

This game is pointless...

Not Real.

I had apple crumble at lunch.

Real.

I have permission to be myself.

Real.

I need permission to be myself?

Not Real (I think)

I am calmer than when I started this.

Real.

She will be disappointed/sad/annoyed that I want to join in.

Not Real.

I still feel worried.

Real.

Worrying makes me a failure.

Not Real.

Dear You,

It's like there's an invisible tally chart - every hurtful thing you say gets notched up, and is irrefutable proof of my worthlessness, and your contempt and apathy. Not because it's you, but because it's me.

It's like trying to buy the perfect pair of shoes, but you're blindfolded and you don't know what your feet look like. I will be taking medication until I find the one that fits. Then I will continue to take it for as long as I can. Understand this!

Two numbers on a certificate does not change me, does not sort me out, does not mean I am 100%.

I try to be good. I do. All my life you've reminded me I have to be good and I try.

If I fail, you're all there to let me know. So I have to do well, and I have to make sure I've won. 

I'm more fragile than you think. 

Every good thing I do, you tear to pieces. I am my own worst critic, I don't need you to join in as well. But you miss understood, and you patronise me now. 

You watched on when others hurt me, because I'm bigger and older you say it's fair when this happens. 

You say I'm negative, that I can only think of the bad, that my vision is skewed. If yes, why don't you help me? Why doesn't it make you wonder why I can only see the bad in things?

You are not special or unique in what you think of me. You are one of many. But of all of them, it was not supposed to be you. It was not supposed to be you.

And I can tell you none of this.

Paper, Scissors, Stone.

Paper: meek and humble, less-of-me-and-more-of-Him, lying closer and closer to the ground while the steam roller train of His glory runs me over and I & my life are nothing more and He is everything.

Scissors: wrestling and fighting and tumbling and tearing and screaming until final submission. Not hearing and not being heard, just allowed to rage, then, subside and bear the scars of battle.

Stone: standing tough and firm, unmoving and unobliging. This is where you deliver on your promises. Where you show me you can be trusted.

What would you chose? I choose to be a stone: to stand here and yell till you hear, to remind you of your promises and your goodness. To show you the emptiness around and demand that you save me. Show me you can be trusted, show me your love.

Build Me a Blanket Fort

Under the table,

Between the chairs.

Away from the noise,

The laughs, the stares,

Build me a Blanket Fort:

Beyond all the strife,

The pressure, the cares.

Somewhere I can hide

Build castles and cry,

Then wake in the morning

And know I'm alright.