Poem: You Were My Sunrise.

You Were My Sunrise


You Were My Sunrise


A blindingly stunning sunrise, after a relentless night…
That’s what you were to me as soon as you stepped into sight.
And try as I might,
I cannot forget those first moments in the warmth of the day,
The second you turned vibrant colour from desolate grey.
You made the chaos go away,
Silenced the traffic of my mind,
Settled my heart and made it whole again.
You woke me from my deepest, darkest slumber;
Roused me from the nightmare of living;
Breathed life into my spirit and showed me hope once more.
You emitted a light like I’ve never seen before.
You guided me towards you,
Lifting me from the depths of Hell,
Coaxing me out of my self-imposed shell.
You were the first gasp of air after two years of drowning;
The gentle fall of rain after an intense heatwave.
You encouraged me to be brave.
You were a powerful breeze, clearing the clouds of doubt and burden
From the night sky,
And revealing a star-filled canvas for you and I
To share,
Under the same Heavens, even if I never have you there
Or know the comfort of your care.
You took my hand and raised me upon your shoulders.
You gave me strength long-buried…
Buried by the weight of the world and all upon it,
Who slashed me with goodbye of some kind;
You gave me courage to leave them all behind.
You gave me all this by simply being you –
You probably have no clue
About the ways your sunshine saw me through.
And as the sun sets yet again
And the world returns to darkest night,
I’ll remember you fondly and thank you
For blessing me with your radiant light.
For just a moment I stepped from Hell,
Into the land of the living…
I had faith;
I felt connected –
To you, to life, to me…
You came along and set me free.
My mind was a prison and you were the key.
The others swooped in, locked me up and threw you away…
Never again to see the light of day.
The colours have faded back to grey.
Without you I wither, I wilt,
As ruins become of the inspiration you built.
A chance wasted, opportunity lost;
Alone in this prison cell I will slowly rot,
With treasured memories of you – they’re all that I’ve got.
Thank you for my brief moment in the sun with you…
I’d forgotten the healing touch of Summer’s rays;
And as I fall back into coldest Winter,
You’ll be in my heart,

Poem: Him.





The intimate eyes I’ll never see,
The hand I’ll never hold,
The lips that never will meet with my own,
The love I’ll never be told.

The smile that doesn’t belong to me,
The arms that will not hold me close,
The heart that does not beat for me,
The soul I crave the most.

The secrets I will never know,
The life I cannot share –
Any other time or place
Life may not be this unfair.

A candle in my darkest depths,
A light to guide my way,
A reason to keep holding on
To stay and fight another day.

Inspiration to create,
To open up and to give,
A hope there’s purpose in the pain,
Encouragement to live.

A longing for requited love,
Sorrow when we part,
The rules are keeping me at bay,
And another owns your heart.

Tragically only mine to lose,
A tear falls from my eye…
You only came into my life
For another sad goodbye.


Poem: Footprints In My Dreams.

Footprints In My Dreams


No sight can be seen, so bittersweet
As your footprints in my dreams.
The soothing sound of your footsteps
Walking the labyrinth of my mind all night,
Searching for my weak spots –
Sweet memories, unresolved feelings, desire.
You sing your lullaby straight to my heart
And I fall all over again.
You whisper my name so beautifully,
Caressing my soul with your shy, loveable smile.
You speak of love … with love,
And we both know it’s forbidden
But the truth cannot remain hidden …
I know it,
You know it.
Your affections cannot walk the daily plane of existence;
It can never be in this life,
I have my illness; you have your wife.
But somewhere inside you dwells a seed of a feeling,
An intrigue,
A wish.
For things to have worked out different to this.
You cannot sleep at night
So you stray into the realm of dreams,
Wandering through my mind,
Hoping to find some hope or chance
To share with me, one kiss, one romantic dance,
One single moment to be alone
And make it known
You miss me too.
Dreams of you bring pain,
But only in the waking world –
It’s why I’d sleep forever if I could,
For when I am with you, life is good.
A part of you is with me always,
You’re a treasure locked within my heart.
And as nobody is aware, they can never rip us apart.
Only I can choose to let you go …
I never will.
I adored you once and I love you still.
Come meet me in my dreams,
Each night if you may,
And tell me all the words we never got to say.
As fate has sent us our separate ways,
We now must love in dreams.

Haunted Love.

Sod it. I feel like I’m choking on my heart. I have poetry screaming inside me, that I am too scared to put to paper… I’m afraid to open that door and let the words out, because a whole heap of crap will come out with them. I have too much pain and love and grief coursing through my veins right now, that I have to let it out. I have to be the most honest I’ve ever been about something. I have to risk the embarrassment, the shame, being vulnerable, because this is gnawing away at me more each day.

I love you. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks anymore. It means nothing. It’s irrelevant how I feel. I know that. But these are my feelings, and I do myself no favours in denying them. I shut them away for a long time. I stopped talking about you. I never stopped thinking about you. Not for a second. But I pretended it was no longer an issue. I still don’t talk about you, and I won’t. Because the second I do, I’ll be judged. I’ll be told to move on. I’ll be told it’s not real.

If it’s not real, then why the fuck does it hurt so much? I miss you so much. Afterwards, people said it must feel like a break-up (even knowing it was nothing like it!)… they recognised the feelings I was going through…. and I recall saying at the time it’s more than that. It was like you died. Because I knew I would never see you again in my lifetime. I knew your life would go on, so it felt like grieving for someone who was still alive. But in terms of my life, you did die.

Your memory speaks to me in my dreams. Your ghost even appeared to me the other day. And just as painfully that ghost disappeared, and I was reminded of your passing. Your ghost reminded me I haven’t grieved you. But I don’t want to grieve you. I don’t want to accept you’re gone forever. I don’t want life to be this way. I escape into my mind sometimes, where we can be together. And I’d much rather live there. You come to me in dreams, and I never want to wake up from them, yet a part of me forces myself awake, at the pain of realisation it’s only a dream. You’re gone. And I’m in pain because of it. What’s so wrong in admitting this? Why do I have to pretend it’s ‘not real’ in order to escape the embarrassment of actually experiencing such feelings? I was attracted to you in every single way possible. The first therapist to talk to me about it asked if I ‘fancied’ you. And whilst yes, I very much was attracted to you in that way, it was unbelievably so much more, and she cheapened it. From then on I felt stupid for how I felt about you. She compounded the problem.

I just got upset a moment ago, thinking about the way everything went…. wondering how different my life would be now if I had just kept it all to myself, pretending I felt nothing. What if I’d just dropped out of the group instead? My life hurtled out of control because of a stupid choice I made, and I couldn’t put the toothpaste back in the tube after that…. I had to just go with it. But it’s left me with such immense regret for my decisions. Opening up about all of this has been one of the hardest, shameful experiences of my life. I’ve felt pathetic. I’ve felt not ‘good enough’ to feel this way for you. I’ve felt hideous. Deluded. Ashamed. I feel embarrassed to talk about my feelings for you. My personal life is personal, and I’ve had to be very open about my lack of experience with such things. I don’t want people knowing the ways in which I think of you. I don’t want them pitying me. I don’t want them thinking I’m just fantasising or that I’m immature in my approach to feelings, and in my views of ‘love’.

Who is to say what ‘love’ really is.. what it means? Love is what you make of it at the time. Love is love. Sure I might meet somebody and fall in love with them, and realise that whenever I thought I was in love before, I was wrong… that this is real love. But something even stronger could come along after that….. it doesn’t mean I didn’t love before. Love changes. There isn’t one mould for love…. love isn’t something you achieve – it’s not something where you go ‘Aha! This is what love feels like! This is love, and anything before this was not love’. I used to believe that, but after meeting you I see love in a different way. There are also different kinds of love. Obviously this is unrequited love. This is ‘I love you even though I’m nothing to you’. Of course if I meet someone one day who loves me like I love them, that is what I will call real love.  But it’s a different love. It doesn’t mean the love I feel today didn’t exist. Love is an emotion. That is why I have to accept that I feel it towards you, because you can’t help how you feel. Obviously I’m not daft – the love I feel for you is different to the love your wife feels for you. I’m not totally insane, saying that ‘I love you more than anyone else ever could!’ – I have more sense than that. I try not to be too logical about how I’m feeling…. that would indicate that I think I stood a chance. I’m a dreamer – but I am a realist. I know the reality. I don’t need to get into the complexities of reality. But with the knowledge that my feelings of love are miniscule in the great scheme of things, I have to be true to how I personally feel, and accept that this is how I feel… as embarrassing as it may be. I’m working on it. I know I have to let go. I have to move on. But even though this was not any form of ‘relationship’ in the slightest, I have to allow myself to heal as though it was something. It takes me quite a time to recover from my feelings for men – I have such feelings so rarely – I become quite devoted in my affections and desires. I have to treat myself with the care I would in trying to overcome a break-up.

In some ways this is worse than a break-up, because a break-up would indicate you were together in the first place. You had your time. You had memories together. You had your shot, and in theory you could have that conversation to get some sort of closure. But with you and me, there was no ‘you and me’. There was no relationship. There was no time together, no memories. We didn’t ‘have our shot’. We didn’t have a conversation and closure, because the situation did not call for it, being a purely professional one.

This was nothing. I know that. I was reminded of that… that there’s no need for closure as nothing existed. I’m not stupid. I know I don’t deserve closure. I’ve had bad experiences in my past where I wasn’t given closure, and although this wasn’t a situation that warranted ‘closure’, it just would have been nice to be given a chance to heal those wounds from the past. To actually feel like things can be different, people can be wished well and given a chance to heal…. rather than everything always being left unfinished – wounds gaping open, and the world hurting.

I just feel so upset right now at the way things were handled. The scars I’m left with because of this, both physical and mental. And I feel doomed to experience the same pains over and over in my life, because not even fucking therapists want to help give me hope. Not even fucking therapists could see an opportunity to fix the broken bits of me… the bits that believe I’m not worth a conversation…. that people come and they just leave – leave my heart gashed open…. that I’m a burden. I feel so upset right now. I can’t stop crying, and all I want is for you to hold me and make it go away. But that never was, never will be, and I feel sick with myself for even wanting that. I feel like a bad person. But I just want you here.


I wish I’d never met you. Because living without you, having discovered you exist, it’s too much. If I close my eyes in the daytime, if I don’t think of you, all I see is destruction. It’s like everything else has died. Everything is dead. The only time I see light, is when I think of you. But that doesn’t last long… it turns to tears when I realise it’s all make-believe. Even you are dead in this world I’m living in, in reality.


I often try to think how to describe the pain I feel about all this…. it’s not easy. It’s like a pent-up scream…. like roaring in pain and sadness, but on the inside. If you externalised it, it would be just that – a noise. A very loud noise. But because it cannot be released vocally it sends painful waves throughout my body – you know that pulling in your chest when you hear something that breaks your heart? It’s like that, but through my whole body. It’s a heaviness. A depression. It travels straight to my eyes – sometimes I can cry, sometimes all I can do is stare blankly at the floor, feeling like I’ll explode from the grief. There is anger there, and I want to punch walls because of it. But it’s a lesser emotion. Sadness, grief, despair, hopelessness, heartache…. these are my emotions. And I’m not so good at coping with those emotions. They’re less reactive emotions, and more ruminative. I find it harder to pull myself out of these emotions… they paralyse me. It sometimes feels like someone is reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart and won’t let go – it feels like my heart stops beating, like it’s giving up… and I can’t breathe. I don’t even want to anymore. It’s in those moments I think ‘How am I ever going to carry on living with this pain, and you gone forever?’ That grasping of my heart, the despair of loss… it’s enough to make me not want to live anymore. In those moments I just want the world to end. If I can’t know you, and I can’t forget you, I can’t exist with the memory of you. It’s too much. It’s just too much.


Six Months Ago To The Day, I See You Again.


Six months ago to the day, I said goodbye to you. I walked out that room knowing your life would go on but I’d never see you again. It crushed me. I finally let the other members of the group know what had been eating me up for all those weeks. It was good to unburden myself. Keeping it a secret for so long was so painful and lonely. Yes I was embarrassed, but you can’t help who you have feelings for.

That night was a terrible one. I wanted to die. It was the first time I called and spoke to the Samaritans. I guess the theory was that if I could get through that night then things would gradually get better… that with time I’d forget you existed. I haven’t. I’ve never forgotten. I think of you every day. I tend to be in denial that I’ll never see you again. I escape in my mind sometimes, to a fantasy land where I have you in my life. I even dream of you. Time will never heal the way I feel about you or about this loss.

I was thankful that my therapist didn’t ask me about you today. I didn’t want her to know that I haven’t dealt with or overcome my feelings for you. I didn’t want to have to talk about you, as I knew I’d likely get upset. I don’t talk about you anymore. I’ve locked you up inside. Nobody can get to you there…. nobody can rip you from my heart. It’s enough that you were ripped from my life, but I have to know there’s a place inside me where I can keep my feelings for you. I won’t be told it’s not real. I won’t be told to get over it and move on. This is my heart. These are my feelings, and nobody can take you from my mind. I won’t let them.

After my session I went into the shops… got to the end of an aisle, and as I came out of that aisle, you came into it… a foot to the right and I would literally have bumped into you. I looked at your eyes, then looked away, only to do a double-take as I realised it was you…. but when I looked back towards you, you stared straight ahead. I don’t know if you saw me and chose to avoid me, whether it’s policy to not acknowledge past ‘clients’ out in the world, or whether you just didn’t see or remember me.

It kicked off so many emotions in me. It shocked me. It brought a sense of happiness to me, that I’d seen your face again. Sadness that you hadn’t said hello. Pain, in remembering I’ll never speak to you again. Excitement in wanting to spot you again. Fear and anxiety that I might spot you again. I quickly got what I needed and got out of there. You probably did the same once you saw me. I didn’t see you again.

I’d say it churned up my feelings seeing you again, but they never went away. All it did was make me question if I really did see you, or if it was my mind playing tricks on me, showing me what I wanted to see. I wish I could have at least said hello to you. But the fear of ‘rejection’ got the better of me. I realised I’m a nobody to you. I can’t expect you to remember who I am or how I felt. And perhaps you were relieved six months ago, to never have to see me again. Perhaps seeing me today filled you with dread. It certainly wasn’t expected.

I was going to meet someone and get the train, and I couldn’t wait to get there. It felt too overwhelming, the appointment I’d just had, and then seeing you. I still feel churned up. I did this visualisation thing when I got home, where I ‘unscrew my mind’ and I poured my thoughts, memories and feelings into a jar, took the jar outside and released them in the garden. But who am I kidding? You’re still in there. You never leave. I might be able to forget the unhelpful things said to me in my therapy session, and how they made me feel, but I cannot forget you. Part of me wishes I could get over it as easily as you therapists seem to think people recover… I wish there was a pill I could take to forget I ever met you. But the rest of me doesn’t want to forget you. That part of me wants to remember you, and to be able to slip away into a make-believe land when I choose to, to be with you there. It’s better than the reality of never seeing you again. At least in my imagination I have something to live for.

I still remember that dream of you the other day, where you said if we’d met a few years earlier, then maybe… You kept lurking, talking to people near me. My friend told me you liked me. Funnily enough this dream took place in Sainsbury’s  – I saw you in Sainsbury’s today! Odd coincidence… I had to wake myself up from that dream, even though it was a good dream… I had to groan my way out of it, as though it were a nightmare, because it was heart-breaking that it was only a dream. I became aware it was just a dream and didn’t want it to continue if it wasn’t true….. I was quite upset upon waking up. I wrote it down so I could remember.

I know it’ll make me sound weird, and nobody understands it, but I need to say it… for my own peace of mind….. and to acknowledge how I truly feel…… I miss you. There’s so much more I could say, but let’s leave it at that. I miss you, and it hurts.


Always in my heart…
Lily x

Sadness Is A Silent Killer.

I’m feeling pretty sad tonight. My previous post-writing set me off, and now everything is making me want to cry. I’m feeling very muted at the moment. In some ways it’s good, as the last couple of weeks have been intense. But in a way I feel I’ve resigned now. I now know my place… I know where I stand with people. I know my importance, or lack thereof. I know who people want me to be…


I tried standing up for myself, defending my rights, trying to stick up for the broken little girl in me. I tried to speak out about my feelings. I tried everything I had within me, to be strong and be heard. But I give up now.


From this point on I’m going to be the girl I used to be. The girl people want me to be. The one who gives but does not get. The one who loves but is not loved. The one who smiles and does not complain. The one who does not speak out, but hurts herself in private. The one who gives care where none is given. The one who speaks only when spoken to. I’m keeping to myself from now on. I’m putting up with my lot. I’ve fought bloody hard to not be beaten down to this point, but I can only withstand so much. It’s not worth the hassle anymore. I feel flat… deflated. And more than this I feel sad. Sad that no matter how hard I try to move forward, people don’t welcome progress in me. They want me to remain that girl they once knew, or the one they thought I was before they got to know me… they want me to be the quiet little loser, who keeps to herself. That’s what they’ll get. Good luck getting me to open up again though.


I feel sad because of the ‘transference’ issue, which I’m not sure was actually transference now. I think it was just meeting a soul that I liked. And I miss seeing him. I get times it’s not so bad and I barely think of him, and then I’ll suddenly get ambushed by feelings and it feels like my heart is being wrenched out through my throat. The trouble I have with it, is that when everything else feels a mess, like it is right now, I just want to see him, to hear him, to talk to him… to be back in that room once again. I’m thinking it right now, and I’m crying as I type this. I want to go back to then. I just closed my eyes and saw his face, heard his reassuring voice and felt like I was back in that room, and sometimes that’s my only comfort… a memory. You know when everything is really bad, and there’s someone you want to turn to for comfort, support or just to make it feel better…. that’s him. I’m aware it makes no sense. But it’s how I feel. And right now I’m really sad that I’ll never see him again. It just makes everything else feel so much worse.


I know I was told it was to do with my granddad. I don’t accept this anymore. Sure, the loss aspect possibly. But I think I just wanted to get out of an embarrassing situation, and linking it to that made me feel less ashamed of how I felt. I do admit it was a loss I couldn’t face… it was too traumatic, too soon after losing my granddad. So in that way it’s linked. But my feelings towards him were separate. But that’s just another thing I’ll stuff down. I can’t do what people want me to do… they want me to just ‘get over’ things… move on…. let go. If only they understood how impossible that is for me.


As for my granddad, I’m not dealing with it. I have times I cry about it… usually alone. The rest of the time I emotionally distance myself from it. I look at his photo all the time, but I don’t let the physical sensations in. I push them away as soon as I feel them rising. I don’t let myself dwell on the reality that he’s no longer here, and what that means for me and everyone else. I don’t want to delve into that tonight… I feel sick enough as it is. Let’s just say that I am flooded by sadness at how he went, the goodbye, and the hole left in our lives without him. I wish he didn’t have to go. I never imagined living without my grandparents.  I knew it would happen one day…. but that day was always somewhere in the future… it crept up on us… and now it’s been over a year without him.


I’m sad that now I’m just considered a part of the club… that ‘we all go through it’…. support may have existed initially, but now it’s gone. And that’s hard for anyone who’s grieving. But I’m just sad that nobody has the compassion to remember this was my first experience of grief. I’m sorry I was late to the club. I wasn’t expecting special treatment, like I have the monopoly on grief… I know others go through it. My sadness came from the fact it was my first loss… my first anniversary date. His first one. My first one. The sadness comes from that, and the ‘snub’ to his importance. All along since he passed, there’s been the underlying thought for me, that he deserved better. But I have to hold on to the love and pride I have in my heart for him…


He may not have mattered that much to anyone else. He might have been a quiet man, and he might not have been remembered how I wish he had… but what matters is how I remember him… how I love him… what he means to me. That’s what counts. It makes my everlasting bond with him all that more special… that long after others have forgotten about him, I remember him. I miss him. I love him. And he’ll always hold a special place in my heart, until the day I die. He was the only granddad I remember, as my other died when I was little more than a baby. So this was a major loss for me. I don’t think anyone realises that. But I don’t feel angry about it anymore. I feel sad at the lack of compassion and caring. I feel sad that this is what life is – death. And worse than that, ‘life goes on’. That’s tragic for someone whose heart is in pieces… for someone whose life has ground to a halt. They get forgotten and left behind.


I’m just feeling so much sadness right now, for so many reasons. Sadness scares me. Anger is passion…. anger is a fight to keep going and make changes… anger is at least something… it’s a driving force. Sadness is despondence …. giving up… depression…. a silent killer. It’s a passive emotion, but so debilitating and crushing on the inside… and nobody would ever know you’re dying. But it’s how I shall live my life from now on…. in silence… serene on the surface…. broken inside. And they’ll never know. They’ll never ask. And if they do, I’ll never tell. It’s who they want me to be… they liked her… or at least could pretend to…..  the old me, who didn’t say very much. They wished I’d keep quiet and suffer in silence. Wish granted.


Anyway, I’m getting tired now… thankfully. At least I might be able to sleep away some of this sadness soon. One of the perks of night-time meds… make you sleepy. Otherwise I’d be up all night thinking.




















Lost In Grief.

lost in grief.jpg


*Names have been changed. May be upsetting as I discuss grief and death*


I’ve noticed I’m dealing with my transference issue in the same way as my grief. In that I’m not. I’m not letting the pain in. I realised this the other night when a memory of *James entered my mind, and it hit me like a lorry. I burst into tears and couldn’t get myself under control. It was just such a silly little flash of something… just how he used to sit, talk, smile and laugh – I could see him and hear him, and it was like an emotional dagger plunged into my heart.

But I’ve noticed for a while now I’ve been putting off truly thinking about him. Just like with my granddad, James is always in my thoughts, every moment of every day… I know this isn’t normal by the way… I don’t claim to understand why someone I hardly know holds as much importance to me as my own granddad, but it’s the way it is. Anyway, although they are both in my thoughts, I don’t allow myself to delve into the reality of their loss. It’s almost as if on some level I’m in denial of reality.

With my granddad I accept he’s no longer here – I can’t see him, hear him or hold his hand. But I try not to let in the whole truth… to try to shield myself from the pain. If I think about all we went through with the hospital, nearly losing him; the change in him mentally afterwards; the months of watching him waste away; saying goodbye; the day he died – all the grief of that day; his body leaving the house; the funeral; never seeing him sat in his chair again; never being able to ask him anything or tell him anything; not seeing his nose crinkle up in a smile; not having him insist I have a biscuit; not having him worry; not hearing his stories; knowing my nan has lost her life partner; knowing he won’t be at my wedding nor see me have children; knowing he’ll never see me be happy…….. if I let all that in, you’d have to scrape me off the floor. Just writing this paragraph has left me in tears. But I’m still trying to keep it all held at a distance. The reality is I never pictured a world where I didn’t have my grandparents. This was my first loss that’s affected me deeply. Now the world feels unsafe. It feels uncertain. I spent so many years being prepared that one day they wouldn’t be here anymore… I never thought that ‘one day’ would ever come. He should be here. I wish he was here.

Sorry, I’m getting upset again, because I’m having flashes of feelings and memories like I had the other night with James, where I can hear my granddad’s voice in my head, I can see him. It’s the good memories that kill us.

But one thing that still haunts me, is the last time I saw him, as himself, before he was hospitalised, whilst he was lucid, and I went to say bye to him before going home, there was a moment where we just looked at each other, and it felt like we were communicating ‘I love you’ to each other, but I couldn’t say it, because I have such issues with saying those words to anyone. And he didn’t say it, but I felt as though it was silently said. That haunted me because I then didn’t see him for a while, and the next time I did, I was in a hospital, holding his hand, effectively saying goodbye to him. Everyone had given up hope, but I would tell him to keep on fighting. And sure enough he did. The hospital had stopped treatment, but his own body fought back and kept him alive. But he didn’t recall anything that had happened. He didn’t know what we’d all been through, nearly losing him. He wasn’t himself after that. He was distant… frail. He would live out the remainder of his days in bed at home. Until almost a year ago when he went downhill, and we knew the end was coming. One night, I think it was a Monday we went to see him, and I went upstairs, closed the door, turned off the monitor so nobody could hear me, and I stroked his head and told him everything I wish I could have told him in life… everything he deserved to hear. But I had waited too long, because no matter how much I told him how much I loved him, he couldn’t say it back. I don’t even know if he heard me. His breathing was shallow, his cheeks were hollow, and his eyes wouldn’t close fully… but he was unresponsive. Seeing him like that scarred me. In less than a year he had gone from the man I shared that silent moment with, to this. I still remember saying goodbye for the last time… knowing it was the last time. Every other time I had said goodbye I followed it up with ‘I’ll see you again soon’…. I didn’t that time. That time it was simply goodbye. I walked out of the dimly lit room, partially closing the door, looked back one last time, knowing I would never see him again. (The next day my parents would do the same, and the following day, the Wednesday, he passed away with my nan and aunty by his side… I still remember getting the phone call just after it happened…) It’s odd, because at the time I don’t recall being too emotional about saying goodbye. I think I wanted to be strong for everyone, so didn’t let my emotions show. Also it didn’t feel real. It was a new experience for me. It’s only thinking back on it now, that it leaves me sobbing into a pillow like I just did.

But this is what happens. I don’t deal with the pain and sadness. I don’t let it out, because I never fully let it in. And then one little random thought will set me off without warning. And this is how I’m dealing with my grief for him, but also for James. I was in pieces to begin with, for weeks. I wouldn’t stop crying. I was harming myself. And as I started getting support for it, I shoved the thoughts and feelings away. I didn’t let them close enough to hurt me. Some might see that as a good thing. I see it as bunging it all under the rug for now. I don’t know the alternative.

All I know, or rather can assume from self-analysis, is that I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to my granddad. I had a certain build-up, knowing the end was coming and I would have to lose him. I had a chance to say goodbye, which many people don’t get, but it was too late to hear anything back that may have helped me. I will never see him again. James… I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him. There was the build-up towards the end of the course, so I knew that I was going to lose him. I had a chance to say goodbye at the end of the course, but I didn’t say it properly, and I didn’t say thank you to him, as I was too emotional about the loss, so just left. I could have done with a closure in the form of being wished well personally, after the trauma of the course, but circumstances don’t allow for that. So I couldn’t hear anything that might help me. And I will never see James again… ever ….. I face the rest of my days without both of them… two men I admired so much, wasn’t ready to say goodbye to, but had ripped away from me. And I don’t know how to cope with that.

Two losses, both feeling the same, in the same year. I know it sounds wrong, but I’ve said on several occasions that losing James feels worse than losing my granddad, for a few reasons –

  1. I had years with my granddad. I had hours with James. I didn’t have long enough with him.
  2. I’m the only one to feel this pain. When losing my granddad, the whole family felt it and understood it. This is only my burden to carry.
  3. We didn’t have any kind of relationship to legitimately mourn.
  4. But worst of all…. James continues to live.

I can do nothing about the fact my granddad has gone. There is no way to bring him back. I don’t have another option. He’s gone. I can believe he’s watching over me. But with James, he’s long forgotten who I am. He’s carried on with his life, he has his own personal happiness, I’m just a number to him, and I have to keep on living knowing he’s out there still. It is so hard to mourn the loss of someone still living. Because it feels like something that doesn’t have to BE. I have to accept a death. But a part of me still fights reality that James cannot be in my life…. it feels like there’s a choice. And while he’s not dead, and I don’t have to accept eternity without him, why do I have to choose/accept eternity without him?? I will never do anything about this way of thinking, but I’m just saying it causes conflict in my head, that he’s still here, and in that way it feels like the loss is being INFLICTED on me, against my will.

I know that death feels like that too. But death is a fact of life. It’s what happens, hopefully at the end of a long well-lived life, if we’re fortunate. My granddad was 90 when he passed away. I guess you could say it was his time. I wish it wasn’t. But with James, he hasn’t died, but I have to live my life as though he has. I find that incredibly hard to do. It’s the same feelings – that I’ll never see him again. It’s beyond my control. I feel powerless. Whilst my granddad may be watching over me, James isn’t. He’s about my age, and living his life. He’s not and never will be watching over me! Simply forgetting me. That makes it even more painful, to know I’m that irrelevant, and I feel so emotionally attached to him, to this degree, not understanding what the hell is wrong with me. So I have this replica of grief with no comfort in the fact that James will be watching over me. With no hope of being reunited with him in a better place after this life. With no personal memories to hold on to like I did with my granddad. With no shared stories from other people. With no pictures. With nothing. Just my memory. This is grief multiplied. It makes no sense whatsoever, and that makes me feel even worse, like I’m a weirdo and an idiot.

Nobody understands it. I don’t understand it. I just know how painfully real it feels. How sickening and devastating it is for me. I’ve never felt something like this before. I’ve never experienced such an intense emotion that makes no logical sense to anyone, that in some way terrifies me, isolates me, and destroys me inside.

I don’t want to do life. And anytime I say things like that, I feel nobody gets it. Nobody would ever understand why losing James makes me not want to do life. I didn’t ‘love him’ they’ll say. They’ll tell me it’s not real. They’ll tell me it was unrequited, as if I actually thought I stood a chance. They’ll tell me to find someone else, but they don’t realise this is more complex than that. This is not about me being with James. This is about never seeing him again. Just the other day I was disturbed to experience jealousy… of his baby. I wasn’t wishing to trade places with his wife. I was wanting in that moment to trade places with his baby, because that is one lucky baby… whether he/she likes it or not, they will have James in their life forever… they’re family. He will always be there for them. He will protect them and love them, comfort them and dedicate his life to them. They’re lucky… that the only way they’ll lose him is when his time comes. And then he’ll watch over them. Do you know how utterly messed up I feel, that when I first met James I was physically attracted to him….. I grew to like him in a different way…. this morphed into a feeling of love and attachment …. and has ended up with me wishing I was his baby… that he would be my father, so that I wouldn’t have to lose him from my life against my will. This is so messed up!!! 

I don’t know if this is some kind of a mash-up between losing my granddad, and all the losses I’ve had in life, of people I didn’t want to lose – friends, guys etc. I’ve had one guy I didn’t want to live without, but he was a dick, to put it bluntly. I had a ‘nice guy’ as a friend, and lost him to a ‘best friend’ who stabbed me in the back. It took me a while to come to terms with that, as that felt like it was against my will. But now I pretend these people are dead to me. I don’t know how to cope with loss any other way. I have to pretend it’s eternal and was beyond my power to choose… beyond the power of those people to choose to leave me. Or I have to hate them. It’s going to take a lot for me to come up with reasons to hate James. I don’t want to pretend he’s dead. I can’t. He’s very much alive in my head. I can’t escape reality. But I keep fighting it.

So I think I’m in the ‘bargaining’ stage of grief. ‘Depression’ being the other I’m experiencing, hence not wanting to live life anymore. I know I can use a bereavement service for my grief about my granddad, but who on this planet can help me with grief from losing someone like James? It’s not even like I can say it’s a break-up… it’s nothing like that. I don’t even know what you’d classify it as! So how anyone can help me with it, I really don’t know. I just wish someone out there truly understood what I’m experiencing…. so they could tell ME… because I haven’t the foggiest. I feel like a freak. I feel beyond help.

Do I just grieve for him like I do with my granddad? It feels like a disservice to my granddad, that I would grieve the same for someone I spent a total of 24 hours with! Simple fact is I don’t want to grieve, I want it to not be this way. But then I know that’s the ‘bargaining’ bit… the ‘denial’. Which I guess shows I AM already grieving for him. I just can’t take any more loss. But I’m slowly learning that life is loss. Life is pain. Life is hard. And right now I really don’t want to partake in any of it. Nothing could make this right. I just want to take a pill, fall asleep for a very long time, have a break from the world, and wake up with no memory of any of this hurt…. no attachment to anyone I’ve lost… no ties to my past, and only hope for my future. Life feels bleak right now. And I wish I’d never gone for help last year. It backfired spectacularly. Now I’ve got double the problem. No wonder I want to give up. It was bad enough this time a year ago…

Poem: Tiny Fingers.



Tiny fingers grip your own;

Mine grasp the pen I last held in your presence.

Your heart is full of pride, and love unimaginable;

Mine full of torture and despair.

You hold a fragile life in your arms and kiss it goodnight;

I hold a thousand hopeless wishes, and kiss my arm with the knife.

Tears of joy you shed…

The tears I cry are crimson red –

The colour of love, and that of pain.

If I could bleed you out and cleanse my veins

Of the stench of you I would;

I would drain you from my memory if I could,

But I can’t, my soul is latched;

My heart is irrevocably attached.

You’ve a future before you, a life-long adventure;

I’ve no wish for a future in which you do not feature.

I’m a hazy memory now – distant, vague;

You’re my ghost every waking minute, distressingly vivid.

Please take my life, I do not want it, I cannot live like this –

Knowing I’m forgotten by the one soul I miss.

Comfort and soothe me, then lay me down to sleep,

And then warn your child to avoid my path and don’t fall in love so deep.

Protect them from this sorrow,

From it I could not be saved.

Oh to be that child, your world, your everything,

With a whole life safely within your heart.

I’d never lose you, until the day of parting came,

And then I’d meet you in Heaven.

But that shall never be…

We are strangers, drifting further each day,

Not even Heaven will save you for me.

I stagger on without you, broken for all eternity.

I hold this pen, these words I write,

As you tuck your little one in at night…

Those tiny fingers grip your own.

I cling to love… and I love alone.

Nobody Will Ever Know.

Nobody will ever know how pleased I was to recognise it so quickly as transference, so not ‘real’.

Nobody will ever know the courage it took to try and tackle it head on with the person involved.

Nobody will ever know how bad I felt, that I chose to self-harm in those toilets.

Nobody will ever know what I went through that night, from the act, to the hospital.

Nobody will ever know how isolated I felt cleaning the floor, panicking about the wound.

Nobody will ever know that it still haunts me even now.

Nobody will ever know how guilty I felt for how it would’ve made him feel, if he felt to blame.

Nobody will ever know how hard it was to see him again after what I did.

Nobody will ever know my fear of him judging me / pitying me for what I did.

Nobody will ever know that both times I ended up at the MIU were after botched conversations with him.

Nobody will ever know how I felt about him… that I loved every little thing about him.

Nobody will ever know how I REALLY felt about him. I’ve told nobody.

Nobody will ever know how hard it was sitting in a room with him every week, both of us fully aware of how I felt.

Nobody will ever know how painful it was every week when people asked him about the baby / birthing classes.

Nobody will ever know how lonely it was, having this secret and none of them aware of the pain I was in.

Nobody will ever know the level of anxiety I felt every single Wednesday. Physical anxiety.

Nobody will ever know the things I sensed / saw that fed my imagination.

Nobody will ever know how much I hate myself for yet again liking a man, who would never like me, even if available.

Nobody will ever know how pathetic I feel.

Nobody will ever know the fear and heartbreak of losing him.

Nobody will ever know how hard I battled my feelings, to carry on attending the course… the strength it took.

Nobody will ever know how many times my heart was ripped apart in those twelve weeks.

Nobody will ever know the amount of tears I cried for him.

Nobody will ever know how many times I wanted to end my life because of this.

Nobody will ever know my battle with self-harm since week three; times I went for treatment; what my family endured.

Nobody will ever know how unsafe I felt, and what little support I received.

Nobody will ever know what this has done to me as a person.

Nobody will ever know the regret for telling anyone – it only made sure I was kept away from him.

Nobody will ever know the heartache from that decision… hating myself.

Nobody will ever know how hard it is to move on, without so much as a quick chat with him, for ‘closure’.

Nobody will ever know how invalidating it is to say I didn’t need ‘closure’ as there was nothing there.

Nobody will ever know how much I don’t want to live now.

Nobody will ever know that I would rather fall asleep forever than never see him again.

Nobody will ever know how stupid I feel admitting these feelings to people.

Nobody will ever know why I feel the way I do for him.

Nobody will ever know the way he made my heart smile and why.

Nobody will ever know that although I know it’s not ‘real’ it bloody feels real.

Nobody will ever know that it feels like I’m grieving his death. The world feels empty. Life pointless.

Nobody will ever know how deafening the screams are in my chest right now.

Nobody will ever know how much I still think of him and cannot forget him.

Nobody will ever know how judged I feel for having feelings beyond my control.

Nobody will ever know how much I wish I never met him.

Nobody will ever know that every time I write about him tears stream down my face.

Nobody will ever know the urges I have to battle… to not harm myself because of overwhelming emotional pain.

Nobody will ever know how restrained I’ve been.

Nobody will ever know how tired I am of feeling.

Nobody will ever know how broken I am.

Nobody will ever know my torment.

Nobody will ever know this pain.

Nobody will ever know him.

Nobody will ever know me.

Nobody will ever know.


BPD & Fixation.

fixation (1)

Hello, and Happy New Year to you all. I hope you had a tolerable one.
I somehow managed to get through it. 


Anyway I’ll dive straight in, as I want to talk about something very difficult to admit to. It’s something I’ve often wondered about – whether it’s just me who experiences it, or whether it is in some way an aspect of BPD. Apologies for the length of this, it’s a bit of an essay, but it’s the first time I’m externalising these thoughts.

I had it said to me in the past, by a ‘friend’ who turned out to be rather nasty to me, that I was ‘obsessed’ with a guy. While I accept it probably appeared that way to her, she didn’t know the whole story and had no right to say what she did, in the way she chose to. I knew it wasn’t just a case of obsession. But…. funnily enough I think I can be ‘obsessional’ about people and situations. I just don’t like certain words being used. Odd to say but I actually would prefer it to be referred to as ‘fixation’, rather than obsession. Obsessed creates a negative feeling of shame for me, possibly because of this friend who was quite offensive in her use of the word. Whereas to me, fixated means my attention, my care and my feelings of love are ‘fixated’ on one person. It’s more about the emotions and their direction, rather than ‘You’re obsessed’, which indicates a flaw in me. My friend actually said the words ‘This obsession you have with ______ isn’t normal’ – well, gee, thanks for that. I’m not ‘normal’. I do recognise it isn’t HEALTHY. But that’s not to say there is something fundamentally wrong with me as a person and I am abnormal or bad because of it. I can recognise it as unhealthy and if I could click my fingers and stop it, I would. But I can’t. It’s obviously a part of my mental illness, and I’m sure I can’t be the only one to feel this way about people.

Thinking back on that situation, it may well have been my BPD coming through there. I admit when I like a guy, I can’t stop thinking about him. He fills up my senses. He captures all of my emotions.




The next part I talk about is really hard for me to do, because I fear judgement and exposure of my ‘craziness’. I worry people will get the wrong idea about me and run with it, rather than hearing this for what it is – a confession to try and help others not feel so abnormal and ashamed. I don’t particularly want to talk about this, although doing so might remove the burden I feel, hiding such a hideous feeling part of me from the world. So please respect what courage it takes to admit to this:




The last man I was fixated on, we were never ‘together’ but he was stringing me along, messing with my emotions and I was his ego stroke basically. I don’t know if he really didn’t know this, or if he did and it’s what gave him his kicks, but despite how shit he would make me feel sometimes, I felt like I was in love with him. That’s why when he hurt me it broke me and I ‘overreacted’… in his opinion… because I cared about him a million times more than he cared about me. I don’t think he cared about me one ounce.

There were many times we’d fall apart and not speak for months – well, he certainly didn’t speak to ME anyway! But we’d fall back together. He obviously got bored of his latest ‘conquest’ and wanted an ego stroke, and me, being naïve and totally inexperienced with men and also having low self-esteem and a mental illness, I was a prime target. So I’d always go ‘running back’ to him. Whenever we drifted apart, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I would cry most days about him. I would go on his social media and because he had a public profile, I could see what he was up to. I would seek out pictures of him. I would look at those whom I knew were his closer friends, and if their profiles were equally as public I would look at theirs too, to see if I could find out anymore about how he was, what he was up to. I would collect the photos together and sit looking at them – not in a psycho kind of way, but to cause myself pain and heartache. I was in almost constant pain anyway most of the time. But having these sessions where I looked at photos and listened to sad music, it allowed me to experience the pain in a way that made sense. It nurtured the heartache. I know what I’ve just said likely doesn’t make any sense to you, but it did to me at the time. In a way I was punishing myself over and over again, for not being good enough, and for losing him….. In reality it was actually his loss, not mine. But I couldn’t see that at the time.

I knew he was into racing, and his team would always do well. So whenever there was a race I’d watch the final results online and cheer him on. But he never knew this. This was purely for my own emotional benefit. I would feel proud of him. But he’d never know this. I know it makes no sense, but it fulfilled a need in me at the time. I wasn’t ready to let go of him. He was ripped away from me. I hadn’t made the choice. So I needed to decide when to let him go. I needed to feel in control of that.


With the latest man I fixated on, I’ve done things quite similar, only we never had a ‘relationship’ of any kind, only a brief ‘professional’ one. But I felt an almost instant attraction to him. He’s nothing like the previous guy whatsoever. Maybe that’s why I liked him.

Even after seeing him once or twice, the times in between seeing him were agony. I physically hurt from missing him. Hence realising I was dealing with transference more than anything else. I spent days crying and feeling sick from not seeing him. I couldn’t sleep or eat. Life seemed to stop. I lived from week to week for seeing him, and dying inside in between. So my answer to that became ‘Look him up!’ – I thought that would stop the sadness and pain, if I could see evidence of him online.

I looked online, I ‘googled’ him… any way I could learn more about him, and feel ‘closer’ to him than reality would allow. I found out enough to know we had quite a bit in common, though a couple of major differences. From what I learned and pieced together with other observations / assumptions, I concluded that he’s very intelligent (more so than me…enter feelings of inadequacy), creative, musical, quirky / individual, funny, respectful, possibly a little nerdy, doesn’t know how attractive he is, he’s compassionate, caring, an attentive listener, sensitive, conscientious, trustworthy, emotionally available and not afraid of commitment, given that he’s married and having a child. He appreciates poetry and writing. And he plays music.

This led me to discover, through looking for photos / videos of him (because I missed him and needed to know that although he’s gone from my life forever now, I can still see him and feel connected, until I’M READY to let go!), that he was in a band of sorts and wrote songs. I had a listen, and now one of the songs he wrote is stuck in my head. It’s driving me mad now actually – it’s on a constant loop, it’s really catchy and cleverly written. I even burst out singing bits of it occasionally and have to stop myself. It also turns out that someone who was in the band with him, is actually also in a band with someone I went to school with – someone who was best friends with my brother and in a band with him, and who also happens to be the first guy I ever had a crush on. Spookily small world! And a bit funny that both the first and last guys I had feelings for were both in different bands with this one guy. Something poetic in that for me….

I also do the same, looking at photos, listening to depressing music, and crying my heart out. I guess it’s a part of grief for me. It’s the way I’ve learnt to cope with losing someone from my life. The trouble I have is if I do this at the wrong time, the emotions will flood in and overwhelm me, and lead me to harm myself, so I try not to allow myself to do this too often.



I was reluctant to share this information as some would quickly shout ‘STALKER!’ at me. But to me ‘stalking’ would be taking the information I learn and using it to contact him or turn up where he’s likely to go. This is not something I would ever do. I am respectful of his space, his privacy and his life. I’m only accessing things that are publicly available. And I’m only doing it to work through my own emotions…. either to hurt myself or in an attempt to heal myself, by stopping the despair I feel from losing him prematurely. When I’m in intense distress, just knowing he’s still alive, and remembering him helps, yet at the same time I admit it does also hurt… to know he’s there, just out of reach – if I wanted to I could contact him, but I’m not silly. I know boundaries, I fear rejection and I’m just not that person.




I am no threat to him or his personal life. I keep myself to myself. Even with what I’ve found out I still don’t know very much about him in reality, and never will. I’m fine with that. Obviously I would’ve liked to have known him better. I would love a friend like him, but I understand the reality is we’re eternally nothing to each other. I don’t know details about where he lives or where he works, and even if I did it wouldn’t mean a thing. I’m a very ‘inactive’ person when it comes to what I find out about people. I’ve always been an online detective, even with a friend in the past who I found out lied to me about something major. I don’t use the information to do anything. It just helps things make more sense to me. It helps me move forward. Or I use it to model what I like / dislike about people generally.

In this case, I know what I want in a man in the future. I know 100% it cannot and will not be him. But I can still admire qualities in him and use that to better my own future. Likewise, things I learned about the previous guy helped me to see him in a different light, that eventually helped me move on, and now I know what to avoid in a man, and I know how I deserve to be treated. I’ll only very occasionally look at his profile now, but just because I’m a nosey cow! And whenever I see anything I feel nothing for him, only disgust at how he treated me. It’s wonderful to be free. Last year I hardly looked at anything to do with him – I had far too much on my plate anyway, and that distance from information / pictures / memories etc released me from his spell. So I do know this fixation with the latest guy will go in time. I do need to stop clinging to any scraps of information I find on him, but again that will happen in time and I’ve got to be the one in control of that. It’s all still incredibly raw, so if this is a part of what I need to do to get over him, I have to allow myself to go through it, and not beat myself up for it.

It’s very hard to do that last bit…. because my morals tell me what I’m doing is wrong. It’s NOT normal. It feels like a violation of someone’s privacy, yet at the same time if it was private it wouldn’t be accessible on the internet – just like people could be doing the same towards me as I speak – someone could be reading what I write on my blog, without my knowledge… they could be looking at any accessible photos of me. If this is done because someone knows me and has feelings for me, but they realise it can never be, and it’s only to feel closer to me or to hurt themselves – as much as I wouldn’t want that for them, it would be okay, as they can only see what I choose to make public. If however they’re gathering that information with the intention of stalking me, contacting and harassing me, making me feel uncomfortable or to otherwise mess with me and hurt me, then that would be ‘stalking’ and would NOT be okay.

While I admit that some would think of what I do as a couple of steps away from being a stalker, I assure you in my case I’m not. For one, I’m too lazy to be a stalker. I’m too shy to be a stalker. And I DO know right from wrong, and hate to do anything wrong. What I’m experiencing now is ‘admiration from afar’ and ‘breaking my own heart over and over again‘… nothing more. Give it a few weeks / months and I will stop looking, I will hopefully begin to forget him, that’s my aim, and I will move on. For now this is what I need. I don’t have a shut-off valve, where I can magically stop thinking about someone. Life would be so much simpler if I did. I need these little windows to be able to appreciate his existence, until I am in the right place to release him from my heart. If I had these taken away from me now, I would fall apart. I would not be safe right now, especially as I’m unsupported.

My anxiety in talking about this, is that someone will read it, know it’s me talking about him, notify him, and he’ll make it so I can no longer see anything about him anywhere. This will drive me to despair. It’s bad enough to have lost him forever. To know that I can never communicate with him. But the thought of someone reporting what I’ve said here, which it’s taken a lot of courage to share, and denying me the ability to heal my broken heart in my own way and my own time, leaving me completely cut off, with thoughts that I’m despised and a bad person, I honestly couldn’t live with myself.

Believe me, I already feel like a terrible person… 1. For having these feelings for him in the first place. 2. For telling people, including him, about these feelings. 3. For being unable to let go of him, and clinging on to any reminders of him, wherever they might come from. I don’t need to be made to feel any worse.


I'm not for one minute saying I can excuse this behaviour because perhaps it's an aspect of BPD, but%2


I’m not for one minute saying I can excuse this behaviour just because perhaps it’s an aspect of BPD, but if it’s something that is actually quite common in people with BPD, then perhaps I don’t have to be quite so hard on myself and can see it as a part of my illness, rather than something ‘bad’ about me as a person. I know I’m a ‘good’ person… whatever a good person is! I know I’d never hurt a fly… literally. I would never wish to cause anyone upset, pain or make them uncomfortable. I’m a peaceful person. A private person (though I have started speaking out about mental health a lot in the last year or so, so it may not seem this way). I have boundaries and respect boundaries. I have a lot of empathy for others. I’m not a dangerous person, or a scary person. I’m not into harassing people. I’m not into breaking the law or getting in any sort of trouble. Even when I harmed at the therapy session I was more concerned with apologising, how it affected the therapists, and whether I was in trouble. I didn’t care about me! I’ve never been in trouble, and I never want to be.

So anything I do is always aimed at me. My self-harm is about me. My anger is taken out on me. My fixation on someone I’m emotionally attached to is about me, my inner experience and hurting myself. I am slightly masochistic and seem to be most ‘comfortable’ when in emotional turmoil. I know this is something I have to work on. I don’t snoop on people to get closer to them. I do it to FEEL closer to them, internally, though the reality is I’m no closer and eventually feel further away, as I witness them continuing their lives whilst I’m the one stuck, hurting over them. I said I’m a ‘good person’ I never said I’m not ‘messed up’…!

My belief is that this is an aspect of BPD… and it would make sense. We feel emotions intensely. We ruminate. We experience issues with attachment and abandonment. So if we feel strongly for someone… attached to them, then losing them will make us claw after any last remnants of them, as it feels like an abandonment… like they’ve been wrenched away from us and we were powerless. That’s the biggest troublesome emotion for me at the moment, the powerlessness. The despair we feel without them leads us to desperately seek out reminders of them, to ease the pain of loss, and to feel we still ‘have them’ (even though we don’t), until we decide it’s time to let go.

I admit when I feel I love someone it’s probably more intense than the average person. I’m not a smothering kind of person though. I very much respect personal space and time, and I actually NEED time alone. The thought of having to be attached at the hip to someone for the rest of my life, fills me with pure dread! But when I fall for someone I fall hard. I don’t feel these sorts of attachments to just anyone. Just the ‘lucky’ few. It’s rare. It has its positives. If the person returned my feelings I would be a fully committed, passionate, romantic, affectionate partner to them. I’d give them the world. It’s just unfortunate that I develop these attachments to people I can’t have, or those who are wrong for me and abuse it.

It’s a horrible feeling being this way. I feel like I’m too muchtoo intense to function in society. I think I’ll be alone forever because 1. Nobody will ever be attracted to me. 2. My mental health is too difficult for anyone. 3. My love is too intense it’ll scare anyone off.

And knowing that I get like this – that I get these strong emotional attachments, fear abandonment and quickly develop strong feelings for people who could end up hurting me… it makes me shut off from the world. It makes me not want to meet anyone I could fall for… to not put myself out there. Because it does feel like a flaw. And the emotional rollercoaster you go on when you form one of these attachments is sickening and potentially deadly. I have felt like ending my life because of these intense attachments. They make me feel very unsafe. So that’s why I don’t put myself in a situation where this might happen now. That’s why the attachment I formed at therapy took me by surprise and messed me up. Because I had planned to not feel that way about a man again, not anytime soon. I thought I was safe. And then I met him. And now I wish I hadn’t.




Anyway I’ve got a couple of appointments starting next week, to talk about things like this I suppose. Two sessions won’t fix this, but I’ll take what I can get and see where it leads me. Can’t get much worse than it is right now. Hopefully I might learn a little about why I get so attached to people like this, and have difficulty letting go.  I don’t know if I’ll ever learn a different way of experiencing emotions… less intensely, or if this is my lot. I just hope one day I can find someone who can tolerate my love for them. Right now I don’t feel worthy of anyone.

Poem: A Part Of Me.

A Part Of Me


I tried to slice you out of me, releasing you from my veins,

But no matter how many times I try, the ghost of you still remains.

I tried crying you out, draining your image from my eyes;

I’d tell you I’ve forgotten your face, but that would only be lies.

I’ve written pages of letters, poems, heartfelt words,

But so many thoughts and emotions still linger, unheard.

I’ve blasted music in my ears, to try and drown out your voice,

But in the silence I’m haunted by it, and have no choice.

I’ve tried breathing you out of my lungs, expelling the air,

But on the next inhalation I find you’re still there.

I tried sleeping you away, but you appear now in my dreams,

So the following day I’m filled with silent yet deafening screams.

Even if I awoke one morning, deaf, dumb and blind,

I’d still be tormented by you, for you’re tattooed on my mind;

You’re etched within my heart, until it ceases to beat,

For my heart is alive with memories – not just a scarred lump of meat.

You’re forever in my mind, my heart and even my gut –

Nothing can change this, no amount of words or cuts.

It’s hopeless, I’m powerless, I feel my hands are tied,

My body, my heart, my mind won’t escape you, until the day I’ve died.

Poem: My Angels.

My Angels


This Christmas I shall not own my heart…

Divided into two parts – one half for my angel in Heaven,

The other my angel on Earth,

Both missing from my life, never to be seen again;

Two shining examples of extraordinary men.

One, with a soul I wish to commemorate and build upon,

The other, a soul I admire and will model as The One.

One I shall meet in Heaven,

The other, destined to be parted forever;

One just beyond the veil,

The other protected by a ten foot wall –

I’ll never know of his life, and he’ll know nothing of mine;

But my angel in Heaven watches me from beyond the sky.

This Christmas my heart shall be broken,

By grief, which is merely love that cannot be spoken…

It has nowhere to go… no resting place;

It echoes on through time and space.

Grief is love eternal.

And my angels shall be loved for the rest of my days;

The one in Heaven shall walk beside me, always,

My Earthly angel has gone,

Vanished from my life, but his memory will live on.

He opened my heart without even knowing,

And no Heavenly force could stop my feelings showing.

This Christmas my heart will be full of love,

For two men I shall never forget,

Even long after their final sunset.

One has forgotten me and taken his own path,

Blissfully unaware I’ve been torn in half;

My Heavenly angel loves me, but is eternally at rest.

To have known them both I’ve been truly blessed.

This Christmas I’m hurting, but we’ll never be apart,

For when they both left me, they took with them a piece of my heart.