Tag Archives: femalewriter

why didn’t you kill yourself ?

this is another question i asked myself so many times, the first time when the first man would curl up his fist and smack it into the wall right above my head. so hard that the canvas on the wall fell off, i remember telling the domestic abuse charity this event a year later when i was trying to escape. and writing it down for the first time ever 8 years later makes me see how scary that must have been for a 17 year old who had just given birth…

i sometimes refer to myself as another person and another character and this isnt on purpose this is because i cant act like its me because if i do i cant move on.

they didn’t help me get out of danger they put me back into the danger. and this is why i cant really have a word press or a safe space to blog because the people that know me and the media attention that i am currently getting, see its just that it would not be a good time for me to share this with them, and i trust you i can talk to you. A little bit like my counsellor you wont judge me ,you wont look down on me ,you wont get mad at me ,you wont block me, you wont hurt me.

you think that there is freedom of speech that there is safe places to go to talk, there just isn’t anymore, even the buses have recording devices on their buses. your phone has a gps flashes up when you’ve been inside a cafe just to leave a review. no where is safe no where. and when you have children you always have to be aware of what you say or they will send people to you. there is a lot of fear here, mum’s fear things and they don’t speak up about it. no one wants a social worker being nosey. they cant give you money or give you food they can only protect the children, really that’s the hard thing they have to go by the rules of the system. my mum always says that back when i was a child, social workers could take mum’s out the house could do more to help people, even call the benefits people up on their behalf. they aren’t even allowed to do that anymore, the gov takes help and those who used to defend people are taken away.

My eyes.

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I can only write what I see through the eyes of my own. I know that wont be to everyones taste. That’s fine.

I stopped giving too much of a fuck, but when you write and then people abuse you for it. One friend said that I shouldnt write about past things because I should move on, claimed it was lack of maturity, writing poems about the new guy who left.

Except she wrote poems about cheating on her husband. I didnt judge her for that and I never would.

When it comes to heartbreak it seems to be an even more edgy experience once you get older. For some reason as adults its not ok to feel like your hearts been pulled out and twisted thrown to the floor.

Because if you do that means your mentally unwell. (That’s what people around me claimed)

Every time I posted a poem every time I wrote a blog. He would always question, always ask, always get angry. So I had to leave that behind and come here to you.

My new audience.

Hello you lovely bloggers, poets, writers, survivors.

I see the world only through my eyes, and that is the only power I have to share. It’s all I have to offer.

Now : Same cycle

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even back then, 7 years ago, I would have never imagined my self where I am now. I feel like a prisoner in my mind, if I express how I feel it could cause problems for me. Big problems.

See I already tried to leave him last year , and as soon as the new guy broke it off with me and broke my heart. I thought taking him back would be safe. I was in a terrible place, I thought he was being genuine and maybe part of him was being. But soon after the new guy left he was bringing up his name constantly, “no wonder he left you, no wonder noone stays with you, no wonder your alone”.

You get the point, and this just caused me to fall into a trap of mental torture. Crying and crying unable to eat. I went back didnt I and my reasoning ?

He is my youngest, father, maybe I do love him maybe he loves me.

But the problem is he hasnt been the kindest to me 4 years, I met him around the same time I met Zac. The issue is I cant really get out of it. I try and then he says or does something that makes me feel uneasy. Scared worried. I suppose I will explain more as the story progresses but for now I am the same cycle.

Loud words, anger tantrums, car swerving , knife holding, furniture smashing cycle. Even if it’s not esculated to that point yet, there is always a fear that it will. The could bes and would bes.

Most of my friends cut off too so I am in pure isolation.

See, I thought I had friends I could rely on. But they let me go and walk away. The new guy too, even after months of ressuring and building me up. They walk away. I still cant get my head around it.

where it all started

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it started almost 7 years ago, I fell in love with a lad who was standing outside of a church near a crossing. the wind was hasty cold, the rain was delicate but you could still see it falling on top of his big blue jacket.

and for the best part he was anon, I didnt know his name, I didnt know where he came from I didnt even know if I would see him again. sometimes I wish that happend.

That would have been many peoples experiences at least before the birth of social media, see when I was growing up, you could be tracked down pretty quickly. All you would have to do is put the first name of someone into facebook and you would more than likely be able to track someone down and add them as a friend.

the thing is i had an unusual name so I have always been easy to find.

that he did. and although I am anon for writing purposes I will call this person Zac.

Zac dated a girl that was at my school but I hadnt been at school for a number of years.

That moment where we met changed so much of my life for the next 7 years. Sex, drugs, manipulations, heartache, back stabbing, deaths, mental torture, relationship breakdowns, lying friends, toxic relationships, and a handful of house moves and two more babies. A journey of which I have sometimes wished I hadnt had to take, but I know that that’s just how fate and life works, shit happens.

dear reader

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thank you for coming to take a look at my blog please follow and subscribe!

about: So, yesterday it was my last appointment with my therapist that I was seeing for 7 month. It was daunting to leave her and daunting to be let go. She knows I have a dire interest to write and I love blogging I love poetry I love sharing my world and my life with you all. But there was one thing holding me back, the people that I grew to love and trust would be reading my items, chewing them up and spitting them out, calling me names, tracking down my address and posting me hate mail, destroying my life because of what I write. Even though it is nothing new, heart ache isnt new, living in abuse isnt new, living with fears anxieties and worries isnt new, its all been said and written before. I thought I was strong enough to not feel anxious and scared to write, but I am.

and this time this is the story I will be sharing with you, the side that no one else knew or heard. The side that I was unable to voice because of fear of arguments, fear of name calling, fear of conflict, and also fear for my voice being completely shut down.

she asked me what do i get from writing, and I said that I am able to be free, I am able to let go of any worries or concerns I am able to be in my own world without anyone to bother me, I am able to create and live and share the emotions that I am unable to share anymore with people that have walked away from me. I am sure that some of you will agree, poetry was there for me when all of my closest friends where not, and it breaks my heart that I have to do write hidden with no name but for now it is the only way that I feel that I can be safe.

yours,

Miss Anon

Writer