I’ll come out of my shell, and strip off my disguise, I’ll face my foes, and out of the ashes I’ll fucking rise…
I’m sparkling and I’m shining, I’m ready to soar, It’s my moment, Hear me roar. I’m shimmering and I’m flickering, Ready to glow, It’s my moment and, I’ll thrive and I’ll grow.
I’m streakin’ the sky, I’m iridescent, And when I’m on my way, Damn, I’m incessant.
Because it’s my time, My time, My time to shine. I’ll come out of my shell, And strip off my disguise, I’ll face my foes, And out of the ashes, I’ll fucking rise.
I’ve been dormant, For far too long, I’ve been scared, But now I’m strong. I’m a force, To be reckoned with, And you know it’s ’cause, I’m a damn good wordsmith.
Across the pages, My pen it races, Jagged scrawls, And your heart it races.
What will I write? And what will I say? You can run and hide boy, But not today.
Face it, And you’ll see, It’s my time to shine, My time to break free. And you won’t like the hard truths, I’m spreadin’ across this landscape, Because you know boy, There’ll be no escape.
Because it’s my time, My time, My time to shine. I’ll come out of my shell, And strip off my disguise, I’ll face my foes, And out of the ashes, I’ll fucking rise.
I’m ready for the big reveal, Your secrets are no more, I’m gettin’ closer, And I’m bustin’ down that door.
‘Cause you can’t hide from me, And I’m strippin’ off my disguise, I’ll face you my foe, And out of the ashes, I’ll fucking rise.
You want the stereotypical hot girl, She’s got a bangin’ body and gets the looks, But I can still break ya, And leave ya shook. I know what you want, The elusive illusion, But I’m tellin’ you boy, It’s a damn delusion.
I can do it as good as them, And play with the best, I got curves and thick thighs, So honey, give it a rest.
You’re chasing me, Creepin’ like a shadow, You’re all talk though babe, You’re so damn shallow.
I still got it and I, Got a little somethin’ to offer you boy, I don’t stalk the catwalk, But damn I’m a good decoy. But still them eyes stray, To perfection that ain’t real, It leaves me wondering… What’s your fucking deal?
I can do it better, I can play your game, I don’t give a fuck, I ain’t got no shame.
You’re chasing me, Creepin’ like a shadow, You’re all talk though babe, You’re so damn shallow.
So you want the model? The girls on the magazine cover? What if I told you? That I’m a hell of a lover? I may not be stick thin, I ain’t no size 8, But you’re head’s in the clouds, And you’re beggin’ them for a hot date.
So you’re chasin’ them, Creepin’ like a shadow, But they know what’s up too, ‘Cause you’re too damn shallow. We all want the dream, We all want the illusion, But I got one up on you boy, It’s a damn delusion.
So baby, Set your mind at ease, Because your dreams ain’t nothin’ but a, Tantalising tease. We see right through you, You’re nothin’ but a shadow, Because we all know you’re, so damn shallow.
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.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. I go on your shoulder. Tappity-tap, tap. You shall sit. I shall tap. Then, you’ll turn around, and I’ll act oblivious. I’ll pretend I didn’t do anything. But you’ll know better. You’ll face forward once again. And there comes another tap. Quick, short, little taps. You’ll check again behind you. But once again, your tapper eludes you. This shall continue, much like the, ‘song that never ends, it goes on and on my friend’. The entire ride you take with me on the school bus, you will feel on edge as I continue to tap your shoulder. You’re embarrassed and desperate to get off. Yearning for your bus stop to appear so you can escape me. After what seems like a million little taps, you decide to ignore them, not knowing what, if anything, you can do. You start to entertain fantasies in your mind; of whirling around in your seat, taking a fistful of my hair in your clenched fist, and yanking at it so viciously that the strands and clumps are very nearly ripped from my scalp. But you’re too afraid to do that. And that’s not the kind of person you are. So, you remain at the mercy of my cunning tricks. Instead you sit, alone and near tears, wondering why I am doing such a simple, yet hurtful and annoying thing. I am laughing in my seat behind you, whispering gleefully to the friend that sits beside me. “She’s such a stupid loser”, I brag to my friend. My objective was to poke fun at you. To make you feel uncomfortable. To make you doubt yourself; a spur of the moment decision, perhaps. I’d decided it was an amusing way to pass time. And I guess I did it too because you were an easy target; blatantly vulnerable, shy and low on self-esteem. I could make these assumptions about you so easily because you seemed to unconsciously project a weakened spirit; eyes downcast, an anxious expression marring your face as you passed me by on the bus as you searched for a seat. You appeared apprehensive, as if you were almost anticipating a confrontation, or something worse. It was almost as if you were wearing a ‘kick me’ sign taped to your back. You were just asking for it! Plus, everybody knows that you’re the girl who gets picked on; the girl that people laugh at, the girl who is called awful names and has food, rocks, and even punches, regularly thrown at you. But I thought I’d do something more subtle than my counterparts. Something bordering on psychological warfare. A little mind game if you will. But downright mean, nevertheless.
I still remember this incident and it happened over 15 years ago. But I do not feel guilty at all.
I remember it because I was the ‘kick-me’ girl. The tappity-tap victim.
I thought I would tell this short story from the bully’s point of view.
It may seem silly to some, but what happened that day, riding the school bus home after school, really upset me. I was bullied incessantly throughout primary and high school and still bear the scars to this day. The cruel memories still haunt me. The story I just told you wasn’t half as bad as some of the horrible, awful things that happened to me at the hands of many schoolyard bullies. It might appear to be quite a tame example of bullying, but catching the bus home was always something that I dreaded in school. And it was because of, but not limited to, girls like the tappity-tap girl.
I’m a lot more confident and strong-willed these days. I don’t allow anybody to intimidate me. I stand up to anybody who dares to bully me. Luckily, as an adult, these incidents are few and far between. But if tappity-tap girl did this to me now, I wouldn’t just sit there and take it. I’d turn around, stand up, get right in her face, and demand why she was doing such a stupid, pointless thing. I would remind her that such actions are only a reflection of her poor character, not mine. Sometimes though, when I reflect on the countless horrendous bullies who attemped to destroy me in school, I do have violent thoughts of exacting revenge.
But I’m quite proud of myself that 2-3 years ago, when I saw tappity-tap girl attempt to cross the road in front of my car at a relatively quiet intersection, I braked, smiled, and allowed her to cross to the other side. I was tempted not to wait. To let her wait. I was even slightly tempted to let her cross, idle, and call her an obscene name or twenty. And the thought did cross my mind (only very briefly, I promise) to put my foot down as hard as I could and trample her. Yes, I’m well aware that I have some anger issues, but the important thing is, is that I never act on them physically. But I digress. I made the only logical and right choice that day when I was reunited with tappity-tap girl. Because, I am the bigger person. Tappity-tap girl doesn’t deserve to to be run over because she was a high school bully. She doesn’t deserve to be the victim of bullying herself, or of a motorist refusing to give way. And I don’t deserve to hold onto anger and act on it, which will only poison my mind and my heart.
But people! If you are reading this and you are a bully or a victim of bullying…
PLEASE DO NOT BULLY OTHERS. JUST DON’T. YOU CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO GRASP THE REPERCUSSIONS IF YOU DO. AND IF YOU ARE A VICTIM, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THERE IS ALWAYS A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. BULLIES ARE SAD AND SMALL-MINDED. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. YOU ARE ENOUGH. AND IT MIGHT BE SO PAINFUL FOR YOU RIGHT NOW. IT MAY IN FACT STAY WITH YOU, LIKE IT HAS WITH ME TO AN EXTENT. BUT YOU CAN AND WILL SURVIVE. I’M LIVING PROOF.
If anybody who has been the unfortunate target of bullying wishes to reach out to me after reading this, please do. I am here for 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?
thewritefluff 