Today I didn’t die

Today I didn’t die.This morning, as I rise, I should be happy, the sun is shining, it’s the morning after receiving an honourable mention in the Monochrome Awards, this is an international competition, for one of my favourite photographs.


My reality is different, I wake on the sofa, after finally falling asleep about 3am, it’s now 10am, the heat from the sun has made my apartment resemble a greenhouse. I wake feeling unrested, puffy all over, confused, hopeless and lonely.

I’ve wandered around my house aimlessly for an hour and now find myself in front of Mac, where I sit in tears, not entirely sure why..

I feel a sense of shame in floating my own boat and celebrating my small win, convinced that others will be saying things like “she always seeks attention” or she thinks hurt shit doesn’t stink’ or any other slur that suggests that I think I am better than others. My reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Never have I felt good enough, never have I felt truly liked(only by a very select few), never have I felt like I fit in.

Always have I felt crazy, Always have I felt awkward, Always have I felt avoided, Always have I felt unliked, Always have I felt that I don’t fit in, Always have I felt ‘not good enough’ or ‘not deserving’, Always have I felt ignored, Always have I felt the need to ‘be’ more, Always have I felt replaceable, Always have I felt misunderstood.

What a jumbled up clusterfuck of a human, I know there are plenty of us out there, so what’s the fucking point to life?

I’ve been feeling this way since I was born, but only in adult life have I felt the increased need for forcing myself into societal standards so I can leave the house and ‘adult’ to show the world how I am rocking this life, but the second I return to my own space I take a sigh of relief, I resume the confused state and do the bare minimum to pass the time.

I know how good a walk in the fresh air would be, but that would mean showering and pulling through all the filthy clothes that are overflowing in my basket to find something clean enough.

My house, seriously, it’s the beginning’s of a hoarders space, I can’t let go of things, just in case, I feel comfort in clutter, I am overwhelmed and don’t know where to start and have very few days of motivation to get through what needs to be done. If anyone came to my house the shame I would feel in them seeing this mess would break me and yet it doesn’t motivate me to sort it.

I spend time googling the pro’s and con’s of admitting myself to a mental health hospital, what stops me is not knowing what to say or how to explain what I am experiencing, because one day is not the same as another, when I am not in it, I kind of forget it, similar to how you forget how cold winter can get until you’re in it and the same reversed for summer.

The other thing that stops me admitting myself, is the reality of the pressures of life, needing to provide a home to my children, needing to promote an Instagram perfect existence in order to secure the right client base for a successful business. If word got out that this bitch be crazy then who the fuck would book with me? I fucking love what I do, I don’t just take pictures, I am invited into a circle of love and trust to record that, that’s all I want is to RECORD WHAT IS, not create what isn’t. It’s witnessing the pride of a man as he looks at the new mother of his child, it’s the horror on a mums face when her son pulls the booger out of his nose and stuffs it in his face as I click, that shit is my oxygen, my next breath, it’s what keeps me alive. Hopefully REAL people will relate and bypass the rest and know that despite my shortcomings, I’m worth investing in and sticking with? I guess time will tell…

For months I’ve been thinking to myself I should write things down when I am ‘in it’ as they might be important flags for the Doctor, but the effort involved in opening my phone, or finding a pen to do so quickly puts that idea to rest. Plus, as soon as I try to formulate what I feel, I feel my left brain activating which quashes all hope in trying to articulate what I need to.

Until today, where, with a blank page in front of me, I am taking the time to write what I feel, allowing my left brain to sort through it, but making sure my right brain is editing enough to keep this real.

So for the longest time, I’ve wished that I become terminally ill, doesn’t matter what, i’ll take anything, my rational side says WOW, you selfish bitch, but my emotional side feels comfort in the thought of dying slowly or quickly, but to have my life taken from me. I know how this sounds, I know people who have lost loved ones to terminal illness probably hate me right now, but it doesn’t make it any less true for me.

Don’t worry, I am not going to suicide myself, far from it, I am not brave enough or I’m too lazy to carry it out, I’m also too scared of it not working and then living with the pity of others and the shame of failing and the dismay of loved ones in ‘why would I want to do this to myself’.

As for terminal illness, I also know that if this became my reality, I would shit myself, I would be activated to live my best life and wish for good health, I get it, I know this isn’t how I should feel, but it’s so very real for me and a constant in my mind. It doesn’t have to be an illness, it could be a head on collision, a tree falling, some kind of freak incident that ends with my life being taken so that I don’t have to keep waking up to my reality everyday and going through the motions.

Poor mental health sucks monkey balls, there’s no sense in the thoughts that I have, they are not always my thoughts, I also know how batshit they sound. My true self, is that bubbly, easy ‘can do’ person that most of you have faced at one time or another, it is truly me, it’s forced, but it’s not fake, it’s not a fake personality, I’ve learned over the years how to stay true to my inner self as much as possible.

I don’t know what else to put down at this point, so I’ll stop. Maybe I’ll publish this, maybe I won’t. Guaranteed if I do I will regret doing so. Let me make something clear, I’m not doing this for a barrage of adoring friends who I haven’t heard from in months or years to feel the need to socially validate me, I absolutely don’t want that, so why bother posting?

Because I really can’t be fucked putting up this facade any longer, because I am tired, I know I am not alone, because I’ll take one for the team and share my truth. Because if just one other friend – or stranger reads this and relates and takes some comfort in knowing that my headspace is a fucking mess, just like theirs and it’s OK, then hopefully it gives them fuel to go and talk about it to someone, that’s what I am doing today, this is my 2021 journey, owning my shit, speaking TRUTH, receiving the consequence, whatever that may be.

I cannot and will not keep living this way.

So here you are people, my truth laid out for all to see, cleansing? who fucking knows, regretful? who fucking cares? This won’t be my truth for much longer.


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