Why do we have this self-imposed idea that throughout our lives we are meant to maintain a perfect, crisp version of ourselves? Like untouched snow, or fresh school shoes that we don’t want to scratch.
I would like a conversation, where we talk about life and living and what it all means. Maybe after, my brain will turn into liquid and drip into dreams.
This birthday was really my favourite so far.
Who knows what 22 years of age will bring me? I don’t know, but I am so excited for it. I look forward to Friday, for my personal New Year. I will enjoy it the only way I know how; with laughter and love.
Today, I bleed. In the space of a year, everything has changed.
It makes me feel bad that my family have had to look after me so much. I hate being a burden, boring and a frustration. I hate that they had to wake up in the night to help me with medicines or when I was throwing up.
Do I care about the people on there, or do I simply find it comforting? The stroking of my phone as I scroll, and the big red heart that comes up when I press like? I put it down, gasping for air.
When I wake up, my heart doesn’t split into a thousand pieces. My head doesn’t pound with questions asking me why us, or how are we here. When I reach for a mug for my coffee, my hands don’t shake when I see Mum’s mug.
I wondered whether Mummy felt this way too when she was in hospital and whether I did enough to comfort her. I hope she never felt alone when she was with me.
Today is one of the days where I kneel humbled by my grief. I am not bowled over by it, I am not stressed about it, I am simply shaken by it.