Eyes downcast, But she ain’t shy, She’s just afraid, Of the next fuckboy or guy. She’s haunted, And she’s got scars, She’s over the superficial pick-ups, In them sleazy bars.
She says, I’m not enough. He says, well that’s just tough. He says, there’s more to you than what you perceive, And he promises you, He ain’t here to deceive.
She says, I don’t feel pretty, He says, that’s such a damn pity… ‘Cos if you could see what I can see, You would feel, So much more than pretty.
But she don’t feel pretty, So she lurks in the shadows, The darkness provides security ‘cos, When she hides, she knows… That it’s safer here, And nobody can judge her, So she sinks into the inky blackness, And it’s a cozy, comforting blur.
He says, don’t you go hiding, She says, but I’m slipping and sliding… Into an abyss, Where I’ll feel protected, Where I won’t be targeted, Where I won’t be detected.
She says, I don’t feel pretty, He says, that’s such a damn pity… ‘Cos if you could see what I can see, You would feel, So much more than pretty.
But she hasn’t felt pretty, In so damn long, And she don’t even know, What’s right and what’s wrong. Is it fucking stupid, To feel this way, And will it ever? Go away?
So he says, it’s such a damn pity, That she can’t see, What he can see. ‘Cos if she could, She wouldn’t feel so gritty, She’d let her light shine, And feel so much more than pretty.
I’ve always loved this quote from Sex and the City. My dad used to say things like this, lol.
TRIGGER WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SOME GRAPHIC CONTENT THAT MAY UPSET READERS
I’ve been called a lot of things in my 33 years. Some nice… Some not so nice. In light of my story’s title, I have been labelled…
Crazy. Parasite. Ugly. Not normal. Not good enough. Fat. Lazy. Stupid. I was even told I was considered a dead, non-existent person. Just to name a few.
I tend to dwell and fixate on these labels, and more often than not, (unfortunately), I use these labels to describe myself…. DAILY. My inner self-talk leaves something to be desired, let me tell you. And I’m well aware of it, but frequently it’s an involuntary impulse. It’s pretty much an automatic, inner-mantra, repeatedly and silently replaying inside my brain. Uncontrollable, painful and intense; ingrained so deeply upon my psyche, that it’s almost become a part of me that I cannot let go of. Some of these names, (fat, ugly, stupid, not normal or good enough), were said to me during my formulative years; I was an impressionable child, naive and willing to believe the things people would call me. Other names have been attributed to me during terrible periods in my life, where I may unfortunately not have been functioning at my best, (namely during the first year following my father’s death). An angry ex lashing out after a particularly painful breakup, for example. I did not initiate the break-up, but in 2017 I was diagnosed with Adjustment Disorder. This is still a disorder I am currently afflicted with and grappling to overcome. I have other diagnoses but I won’t get into that right now. In regards to my father’s untimely passing, I felt as if I’d been abandoned by my best friend, my guide, my teacher, my hero… When Dad died in September 2016, he took a part of me with him. A part of my heart I’m unlikely to ever recover. My father was such a huge presence in my life. We were two peas in a pod. Both writers, both prone to the same thoughts and feelings. He got me, to put it plainly. And nearly five years later, I still miss him every single day. So when my boyfriend left me a year later, it turned my life upside down for the second time in a year. I couldn’t take it. I was imploding, exploding, breaking; completely and utterly guttered and irrational. I was convinced that everybody I love leaves me…. I was crazy! Really crazy! I wasn’t prepared for the grief of losing a parent unfortunately, and to then lose a partner… I quite literally lost my shit. So perhaps that particular label was quite appropriate at the time. But I am more than these labels. AND SO ARE YOU! Mental health stigma and the negativity sometimes surrounding it, is why I am writing this today. I am not blaming my actions on my mental health diagnoses. I am responsible and accountable for what I do. And I’ve made mistakes, I’ve apologised, and I’ve owned up to them. But what I am seeking to do, is educate others as to why a person experiencing a broad range of mental health issues, may behave in a certain way. And it isn’t always easy for others to understand. And that is okay. I’m discovering, as I navigate the path of living with a mental illness, that others may or may not be aware of the intricacies involved with these challenging prognoses. My father was very unwell throughout his last five years, and during that time I know he believed he wouldn’t be around for much longer. I lost count of how many times he made me promise that it would be my responsibility to ensure I shared his writing with the world.
“Get it out to the masses Fluff, my writing needs to go to you. It’ll be you who has to spread the word, share my lyrics, and try to work out a way for someone to sing them”.
This was his request. And I wholeheartedly agreed to it. It was a solemn promise I was determined to uphold. In the days following his death, I discovered another family member had taken his writing portfolio. When I asked for it, this family member refused. And bear in mind he did have good reasons, and I respected that, to an extent. I was so desperate at that time though. I believed I’d killed my own father. So I nagged this family member incessantly for the portfolio. I thought if I had it and started working on it, I could make it up to my Dad for not being by his side as he took his final breath. When we went to identify his body he had passed out on the kitchen floor, in our family home. He died in his sleep, alone. And that broke my heart and brought about such intense feelings of heartbreak and guilt. I held his cold and stiff hand. I sat beside him, crying, apologising, begging him to come back. It was the single worst, soul destroying moment I’d ever experienced. The family member in question was a bit frustrated with my nagging about the portfolio, as he had a right to be during that awful time. But he assured me that when the time was right, he’d give it to me. Perhaps in a year. So a year later I requested it again. And again I was told that I wouldn’t receive it until he was ready. A verbal fight via Messenger ensued, and I was called a parasite. I eventually resolved this dispute, because I too said things that weren’t very nice in retaliation. Dad and I had actually had a falling out 6 weeks prior to his death. I firmly believed for years that he died of a broken heart because I cut ties with him. I will regret this for the rest of my life. So bearing this in mind, I was desperate to make it up to my Dad by keeping my promise to him.
I may have lost a lot of loved ones during the last five years. Four in total. But I have my amazing mother. A woman so strong I can only dream of emulating her resilience. This wonderful woman was kind enough to gift me a handwritten notebook of my father’s. It contained the majority of all his beautiful love letters, songs and poetry. Which as you have noticed, I have been sharing. My mother is one of the reasons I’m on my writing journey. She taught me to read before I began primary school. Because of her efforts, I fell in love with books, and then yearned to create my own stories. And it then became a double-whammy, because as I mentioned above, Dad was a writer too. So I’m incredibly grateful to them both, for giving me such an amazing gift that’s developed into a lifelong passion. This passion has provided me with solace in times of distress and heartache. I never feel more alive than I do when I write. Writing to me is cathartic, healing and a great coping mechanism. But I digress. I will now elaborate on the label, ‘lazy’. Even a simple thing like leaving the house to go grocery shopping sometimes fills me with anxiety. Due to constant lockdowns, my social anxiety is through the roof. Last year’s lockdown in Victoria was extensive. To the point that social interaction was almost non-existent. I became so accustomed to being isolated, that the thought of returning to semi-normal life fuelled feelings of fear, panic and anxiety. Sometimes before I leave the house, I feel as if my feet are glued to the floor, metaphorically speaking. I want to move my feet, I want to stand up. But soon my ever-present, negative self-talk begins to intrude. It overwhelms me. It swallows me. My thoughts begin to race, running in repetitive circles within the chaos of mind. I start to panic. I get tunnel vision. Waves of dizziness overcome my body. My heart pounds and palpitates, so hard and fast I feel as if it’s going to leap out of my chest. Then I begin to worry, thinking I’ve developed the same heart condition that contributed to the death of my father. I tell myself I’m a weak bitch who should be able to do a simple thing like go grocery shopping. I also unfortunately have triggers. Yet another delightful side effect of my mental health issues. I begin to imagine what others will say or do when I am there. Will someone trigger my insecurities? Will I have a panic attack or snap at someone? Will people stare at me? Focus on me? Possibly wondering what is wrong with me? Are they thinking I’m ugly? Fat? And returning from the shops often involves aggressive tailgaters who swear, try to ram me, and toot me. When in fact I’m sticking to the speed limit, as I received a speeding fine last year and can’t afford another one. Plus you know, it’s the law and all. I’m living in a new suburb at the moment, and I’ve noticed it’s rife with antagonistic drivers. This isn’t just limited to going shopping however. These feelings trickle into many of my daily activities. For example it effects my ability to work quite often. I have to force myself to go regularly. But this is already long-winded, so perhaps I’ll talk about this in more depth on a future post. Surprisingly, I can be quite good at masking my inner demons. But I’m also the sort of person who is an open book. Transparent if you will. Certain people can take one look at me when I’m in the throes of an intense anxiety episode, or simply if I’m mildly upset, and can immediately see it etched across my face. Even when I try my best to hide it! To be frank, I try to stick with the absolute necessities in regards to my social interactions at the moment. I’ve even started to order the majority of my groceries online, as I attempt to work through and hopefully eradicate these fears. Parental duties, interacting with family members who live with me, friends, (single bubble only if permitted of course) and work obligations are my necessary priorities. But I don’t intend to ‘ramble on’… In summary, I encourage you, and myself to be kind. I, to myself, as I’m my own worst enemy. You, to yourself, if you are experiencing anything similar to me. Practise if you can, acceptance, patience, self-love and owning and being proud of the things that make you, YOU. Whether that be loveably eccentric and a little wild and extra, anxious or panicked… YOU ARE YOU. You are so much more than your diagnoses. You are so much more than your perceived flaws. You are special, you are relevant, you are treasured, you are important and you are cherished. AND IT’S OKAY TO NOT BE OKAY. Sometimes in life we can embrace the things that hurt and put a positive spin on it. It’s easier said than done, I am living proof of this.
So to conclude this mini novella…
I’M EMBRACING THE CRAZY…. OH AND PS, I DO NOT HEAR VOICES IN MY HEAD. I HAVE SEEN LOVED ONES THAT HAVE HEARD VOICES. AND THAT IS OKAY ALSO. I may be extra, I may struggle, I may be irrational and sometimes act ‘crazy’… BUT THIS DOES NOT DEFINE ME. BUT I WILL EMBRACE IT ANYWAY AS IT IS A PART OF ME. AND I WILL ENDEAVOUR TO LOVE MYSELF, FLAWS AND ALL. AS YOU SHOULD TOO.
In my mezzanine dream, I’m watching them ants dance, Ants swirling, Ants twisting, Ants lost in a trance. Ants doing their own thing, But moving as one, Ants climbing mountains, To get closer to the sun. Ants frenzied and busy, By the force they’re driven, I’m burning with envy, I’m dreaming, And their trippin’.
I want an ant life too, But I’m in a padded room. I want an ant life too, But I’m in the wide-eyed zombie crew. The late show is early, The preacher show is late, It must be z-catching time, ‘Cos the bad news boy’s at my gate.
I want an ant life too, And be an ant beyond blue, The zombies handling my case, They ain’t got a clue. I can feel them ants crawling, A new ant day is dawning, Some ants shifting gear, Other ants are stalling. Ants on the march, The big wheel needs ant cogs, Ants pushing buttons, Ants letting out sobs.
Places in the scheme, These ants have got, I need the spell to be broken, So I can spoil the plot. Ants with a mission, Ants with a cause, Ants in submission, Ants hiding behind walls. Persecuted ants, Knowing history repeats, Ants staying home, Too scared to walk the streets.
Drunk and angry ants, Carrying knives, Targeting innocent ants, Who just happen to be passing by. Catch and release ants, ‘Cos justice ain’t in season, Locked and loaded ants, Looking for a reason. Ants in the limelight, Ants no longer adored, Ants doing tricks, So the junkie ants can score.
Drug-dealing ants, Selling bags of dreams, Methadone ants, Trying to get clean. Shepherding ants, Looking for a flock, While construction working ants, Are staring at the clock. Ants telling the truth, Going door to door, Terminal ants, Looking for the cure. These ants are so strong, They can carry heavy stuff, They’re slaves to the cause, And doing it tough.
Adolescent ants, Going through phases, Tuned in ants, Chillin’ to M’phases. Ants living in the moment, Ants feeling sublime, Ants wearing suits, Ants being on time. Ants with a void, Buying stuff to fill it, Ants with full cups, Scared they’re going to spill it. Ants with everything, Ants counting beans, Ants crying out, ‘Cos they cashed in their dreams.
Ants staring at screens, Finding faces in the book, Ants burning pages, Not paying for what they took. Ants addicted to technology, Turning old ant-ways, Into mythology. Politician ants getting re-elected, Breaking ant promises, Leaving voter ants rejected. Ants hanging on week to week, Ants lining up for soup, These ants though, They don’t look cheap.
Virgin ants safeguarding their prize, Swinging-party ants, Swapping ant wives. Ants making holes in the atmosphere, Ants on soap boxes, Saying the end is near. Ants on the ocean, Them ants don’t sail, Ants doing research, Ants killing whales. Terrorist ants, Spreading fear, Tearing at the fabric, Them ants hold dear.
Now I’m not sure if I want an ant life too, I think I’m safer sleeping in my padded room. I wanna get out, I’m gripped by cold fear, I wanna find an ant, To buy me a beer. There’s lots of them, They’re everywhere, Ants burning bridges, Ants climbing stairs.
Tiny little worlds they got, From my perch I can see the lot. How come I only got half a cup? Wish my tongue was longer so I could lick ’em all up.
Now they’re coming in here, I can hear them teeter, But there’ll be no room left for me, The anteater. No room left for me, The anteater. No room left for me, The anteater…
A song inspired by my biggest idol, Pink Floyd. Album cover is from, ‘Wish You Were Here’. Copyright Pink Floyd 1975.
I be hustling, Day and night, Doing it like you do, ‘Cos I wanna make it, I wanna make it like you.
I know the odds, I know the game, But imm’a give it my all, Just the same. I want your limelight, And your adoration, My name in lights, Validation.
I want it all, The fortune and fame, Luxury and leisure, Critical acclaim.
I be hustling, Day and night, Doing it like you do, ‘Cos I wanna make it, I wanna make it like you.
Cheer for me, Like they cheer for you, I want the sweet spotlight, And I’ll get it too. We love you, And you’re a star, Be like her, And you’ll go far.
I want it all, Life in the fast lane, All the love money can buy, All the pleasure and pain.
I be hustling, Day and night, Doing it like you do, ‘Cos I wanna make it, I wanna make it like you.
I’ll have it all, My phone be ringing off the hook, Chasing that ambition, Is all it took. I’m hungry for the limelight, I’ll have my cake and eat it too, ‘Cos I want a life, I want a life like you.
I want it all, They’ll scream my name, Flashbulbs popping, I’m a moth to your flame.
I be hustling, Day and night, Doing it like you do, ‘Cos I wanna make it, I wanna make it like you.
I’m living the dream, I be hustling, I’ve got my fans, I be bustling. I’m on the go, Doing it like you do, ‘Cos I’ve made it, I’ve made it like you.
I’m owning up, And I’m an open book, Got nothing to hide, So take a look. This is me, This is true, So how about it boy, Me and you?
Don’t need a crown, But I’m a queen, Stripped back and bare, I’m coming clean.
Don’t need no pills, To keep me real, Don’t need the booze, To help me heal. I’ve faced my foes, And I’m ready for you, This is me, This is true.
Don’t need a crown, But I’m a queen, Stripped back and bare, I’m coming clean.
I’ll say it like it is, What you see is what you get, No more theatrics, I’m not done with life yet. I’m ready to be, What you want me to be, So how about it boy? You and me?
Don’t need a crown, But I’m a queen, Stripped back and bare, I’m coming clean.
Without my vices, Baby I’m free, Stripped back and bare, Finally, I see. What I have, Is all I need, The straight and narrow, To proceed.
So can you take, This trip with me, I’m coming clean, Can’t you see?
Don’t need a crown, But I’m a queen, Stripped back and bare, I’m coming clean.
So be my king, And I’ll be your queen, Stripped back and bare, The slate is clean.
I got plenty of material, Lurkin’ in the back of my mind, So many ghosts, Boy, you were so unkind. I could say so much, How shit played out, Boy it’s you, This song’s about.
So hit me where it hurts, Strike me when I’m down, I’ll go lick my wounds, And you’ll laugh when I frown.
Said you’d never leave, Boy you’re a liar through and through, Thanks baby, ‘Cos now I can write about you.
Starin’ at the ceiling, Lyin’ there crying, Wishing you’d come back, Inside, I was dying. But I put pen to paper, And now I ain’t sad, Exorcising my demons, I’m armed and I’m glad.
So hit me where it hurts, Strike me when I’m down, I’ll go lick my wounds, And you’ll laugh when I frown.
Said you’d never leave, Boy you’re a liar through and through, Thanks baby, ‘Cos now I can write about you.
Thank you for giving me, So much ammunition, Thanks for making my fears, Come to fruition. Without that, Boy, I’d be bereft, Just like I was, When you left.
But see, now my words, Are a beautiful distraction, Healing me, From our fatal attraction. And I’m grateful, For what you did to me, I was trapped, But boy, now I’m free.
When I needed you most, You weren’t there, You turned your back on me, And said you didn’t care. But I ain’t bitter, It’s okay, ‘Cos you helped me boy, In your own way.
But I’m all good, Now that we’re through, I got me my words, And baby, I’ll write about you.
I’m untouchable, How about you? I’m armed with my words, And baby, I’ll write about you.
For those of you who know who I am, you will be aware of the fact I am a single, 32 year old mother. I have a 9 year old son, and I adore him. That being said, I believe that women my age are often placed under unnecessary pressure to either have children, or be happily married. Our biological clocks are constantly ticking, after all. There is absolutely nothing wrong with ‘still being single’. Don’t allow anybody to make you believe otherwise. Don’t you just hate it when people ask if you’ve ‘found’ someone yet? I’m sure I will find someone, thank you very much. But it’s actually totally acceptable that I haven’t ‘found’ Prince Charming yet. I do in actual fact, hope to fall in love again one day, make more babies and create a life with somebody amazing. But there is nothing wrong with me if I don’t. Yes, it’s lonely and can be frustrating. But these intense and sometimes unpleasant emotions work wonders on my ability to write. So therein, lies the silver lining; always look on the bright side of life, as Monty Python says.
Perpetually single, And lonely too, Settle petal, But not with you.
The landscape’s a-changing, And everybody’s breeding, It ain’t her bandwagon, She ain’t desperately seeking.
Don’t wanna be tied down, Don’t need the label, Don’t need the fairy-tale, Don’t need the fable.
Perpetually single, And lonely too, Settle petal, But not with you.
She’d rather take a ride, On the merry-go-round, She don’t give a fuck, When you don’t make a sound.
It ain’t enough she says, And you can’t tame me, No ball and chain, She’d rather be free.
Perpetually single, And lonely too, Settle petal, But not with you.
She’s got her own rhythm, And she’ll dance to her own beat, She’ll take off, You’d better move your feet.
Can you catch her? Wanna try? Is it worth it, You wonder with a sigh.
Perpetually single, And lonely too, Settle petal, But not with you.
That’s their play, And that’s their game, Not her rules, She ain’t the same.
I’ll have what she’s having, No thank you, That ship has sailed, And that’ll do.
Perpetually single, And lonely too, Settle petal, But not with you.
Have your cake, And eat it too, Oh so happy, But she’ll make do.
She don’t care for the clock, She don’t hear its ticking, She’s having fun, Too busy living.
Perpetually single, And lonely too, Settle petal, But not with you.
It’s a competition, But she don’t need to win, She’d rather live a life, Of lust and sin.
They’re all so happy, And paired off too, But nothing lasts forever so, Joke’s on you.
Perpetually single, And lonely too, Settle petal, But not with you.
Why’s she single? Is there something wrong? Cos she’s been alone, For too damn long.
But she don’t need a pair, To make her happy, She’s fine thank you, Her life ain’t too shabby.
Perpetually single, And lonely too, Settle petal, But not with you.
This is where she’ll stay, This is where she remains, She don’t need your arms, And she don’t need your chains.
Disclaimer – you may think this poem sounds bitter; I’ve been through some fairly fucked up shit in my life, and sometimes on occasion I do feel bitter. Plus, Roger Waters is my muse. If you are familiar with Pink Floyd, you will be aware that their music and lyrics are quite dark. Like my soul. Joking. Or am I?
I was inspired to write this poem because an annoying bird wouldn’t shut the fuck up, and kept chirping close by while I was severely hungover. At the time, I’d also been reading a book of poems by Edgar Allan Poe. The bird in question actually reminded me a lot of Poe’s ‘The Raven’, a poem I’ve always adored.
Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Raven’.
Chirping from its vantage point in the heavens, Shrilling, trilling, One, two, three, four, five, six… And seven!
Resonating, resounding, He simply cannot stay, But this chirping bird, Won’t be led astray.
He’s ringing, he’s warbling, An off-kilter tune, Echoing and piercing, Oh, my misfortune!
Caustically, dryly, Laughing his bittersweet song, This chirping bird, Is all kinds of wrong.
He’s watching me now, His ballad growing louder, I’m frightened now, It’s time I cower!
This chirping bird, Has realised my woes, He’s giggling and a-cackling, And his scornful song never slows.
His stubby wings a-flapping, How I wish he would go away, But this chirping bird, He’s here to stay!
From its vantage point in the heavens, This chirping bird wants to play, Watching and waiting, His dreadful song lasting all day.
But finally, at long last, Day becomes night, Now I can watch and wait for this chirping bird, To take flight.
And oh yes, oh yes, There he is ascending, Wings a-flutter, His mocking song is ending.
But ringing in my ears, His song it still haunts me, Again and again, His song it still taunts me.
And as I turn fitfully over, And open my heavy eyes, There he is, This chirping bird, Soaring in the skies.
He’s a fiend, This chirping bird of mine, And his home is right here…
thewritefluff 