Sunday, 29 May 2011


I was round my brother's house with my family today.
My seven year old niece was happily sitting next to me, humming to herself. I realise she's stopped, and she's looking at me. Right at me. So I turn to her and smile, kiss her hair, and she says,
'Dee Dee, why are your eyes so yellow?'
I had to bite my tongue, hold back tears and say, 'I'm poorly sweetheart, I'm not very well.'
'Oh... okay.' And she kisses my hair and strokes my back, resumes humming soft lullabies as if I am the child needing comfort. 
Never in my life have I wanted to cry so much. She's seven, I haven't told her about my liver. I haven't told her I can't fix it. She doesn't know that I'm constantly tired and my body is shutting down on me.
But she does now. She did notice. She shouldn't have to know about things like that, she's so young. 
What if its worse than I thought? Worse than the doctors think?
What if it never gets any better? 
What if I never get to see her grow up? My children grow up? What if I never see them have children of their own?
I'm so scared. I don't want my life taken away from me, I don't want to miss out on my children getting married or having little bundles of joy that they call their own.
Most of all... I don't want to give them the same curse. its partly hereditary, I don't want my kids growing up with it too.
I'm scared.

Friday, 15 April 2011


I want to clarify a few things for everyone:

  1. I have not fallen off the face of the Earth, despite what previous post might lead you to believe. I'm alive, well, and extremely happy.
  2. Thinking you should do something and actually doing it are two very different things, as I have recently discovered. wanting to kill someone and having the guts to face the consequences, for example, are two extremely different things. Carrying on with that analogy, as much as I might want to kill someone, jail and interrogation after the event are highly unattractive.
  3. I am not purposely leaving my blog to rot in cyberspace. I would love to post weekly, two weekly; regularly. However, a shitty laptop and not enough time on my hands leaves me posting as and when I receive a free minute. 
  4. I am no longer depressed, as stated in previous post, because (drum roll please) I am heading to Yorkshire tomorrow, until Thursday. Trip includes going to Liverpool to watch wrestling (pray for me) two sessions of 'girl bonding time' with my beloved's mother (I don't even do this with my own mother, so I have absolutely no idea what to expect). She, apparently, thinks of me as a future daughter-in-law, so I should be fine. Despite everything mentioned in last post, his parents still absolutely adore me (apparently). However, this will not stop me feeling slightly embarrassed when I have to say hello once again and shake their hands as if everything is wonderfully peachy. However, I think I will cope rather well. Especially considering the fact that his mother made the remark 'If he doesn't marry Deanna I will shoot myself.' 
This is the plan for the next few days. Yorkshire. Should be interesting, to say the least. Have no idea what to expect, however a kiss hello and a kiss goodbye is obligatory, I feel. Anything else in the middle... That's a bonus.
Must get to the bottom of why he hates himself too.
That should be an interesting, depressing, reassuring conversation.
Signing off for the next week or so;
Lets so this shizz.
<3 xxx

Saturday, 19 March 2011


I walked through the park today. My eyes met the sight of children. Several children, smiling, laughing, running after each other as if being pulled by some gravitational force. Playing football, riding on swings, throwing balls to their friends who would catch it without question. They all had one thing in common.
They were happy.
I wish I could go back to a time where everything was okay. Where I was still innocent. Where 'dirty pictures' were ones thumbed too many times with chocolate fingers, where I thought 'sex' only referred to gender. Where an excuse for being upset was something like 'I spilled orange juice down my new dress', not 'I'm on my period and I feel like shit.' 
Where the only reason I wouldn't see my best friend in the entire world, the one I would do anything for, the one I loved so much I couldn't even realise it, was because they got sick, or they'd died.
Not because they lived 200 miles away and had controlling parents who are now re-thinking everything they thought I was. 
Everything got to me today. Everything is so messed up. I feel violated, and belittled, and like it won't ever get better. Something I've been waiting for since December 29th, 81 days, something I've been working towards, living for, now might not even happen.
And I didn't know who else to blame but myself.
I slept awfully last night, no doubt tonight will pose the same story. So I ran to the place I know I'll be at home.
The sea.
I walked to the edge of the pier, and stood right at the edge, where the rails are low and its possible to jump to a watery grave. I stood there and leaned over, risked my life, to feel... something more than the pain I was feeling. I needed to feel alive. I needed to get rid of everything poisoning my head, killing me from the inside out. I wasn't even feeling pain... I don't know what it was. It hurt, and it felt bad, and it dulled everything. I hated it.
I still feel it.
Because everything is still fucked.
I still hate it.
Come home, please. I've been waiting for so long.
I need you, because you're the better half of me. Its not me just wanting you, or just lusting you, or just loving you. Its all of those things. I need you, to stay sane.
Bold statement? Yes. 
Also yes. 
I cannot physically function for another two months if I don't see you in the middle somewhere.
Pray for me.

Sunday, 20 February 2011


I've fallen into something
Something I cannot change.
Something which is set out for me, 
made out of my power,
something beautiful and fierce.
Something flexible,
but perfect to me.
Something worthy of debate,
something that not everyone agrees with.
Something that only makes sense to me. and him.
An example of love conquering all,
of love being all.
Something I can't live without,
and choose not to live without.
Something which maps my life out,
I can see everything,
how it should be,
how it could be,
how it will be.
If we allow it to be.

Saturday, 5 February 2011

Open your eyes...

When are you going to stop being such a venomous bitch?
When are you going to see that alcohol won't drown your problems? it'll only make them float. 
When will you realise that not everyone is out to get you? 
When are you going to see that these won't help you... matter what concoction you choose to take...
and eventually they'll kill you?
when will you realise that your moods are so unpredictable that its like every time I take a step, it kills me?

and eventually.....
it will kill me? 

Sunday, 30 January 2011


'They say that home should be where the heart is. So my heart should be here, within these walls of this house I’ve spent my whole life in. Within this town, where I hold many of my childhood memories. Home may be where the heart is for most people, but my heart flew away from ‘home’ on a dream long forgotten some time ago. A dream of riches and rush, a dream of majesty and meagre happiness. Not so much a dream, more the childhood fairytale of foreign lands and mystery, of fame and fortune. A fairytale where everything is perfect, where your knight in shining armour is exactly that, not some wannabe wrapped up in tin foil. Where your prince sweeps you off your feet to a magical fairytale castle situated in the candyfloss clouds, instead of leaving you to cry into a tearstained pillow, plagued by insomnia as you try to figure out where it all went wrong. A fairytale so few of us, if any at all, even begin to accomplish. A part of me, all of me, is still holding out for a segment of that fairytale, a part that I can look back on when I’m eighty and hard of hearing, and genuinely smile at the happiness I felt there once more. But who am I trying to kid? Fairytales are for the foolish and faint-hearted. Reality is for the strong and surly, for those whose dreams of castles stopped when they were seven. 
I guess I’m not that girl.'
I wrote this on 19th June last year, when I didn't know where home felt it resided. I was stuck between where I spent most of my time - London - and where I was born - Worthing. I felt torn between the two. Worthing is a town of lost causes and faded ambition. No one in this town will ever do anything exciting with their lives. They will sit at home and get good grades and get a normal job and probably never leave. London is a town rife with ambition and dreams coming true, everyday. But neither are where I belong. And I realise that now, because they don't hold what I desire most. 

Sunday, 16 January 2011

Old man

The man on the train who wouldn't stop talking to me read me like a book. "Its a terrible thing, to lose a loved one, isn't it?" He said, in such a way that I knew he was reflecting my pain, not his own. "Yes, it is terrible," I said, wondering how he had managed to know how I was feeling without my saying anything.
True, I haven't lost my loved one permanently; they are not dead, or on the other side of the world. 
But they are far away enough that I feel completely lost in myself. Far away enough that I feel like someone has ripped me up into little pieces. The old man had read my mind, read my face. An open book. 
No one should have to lose a loved one on any spectrum. Whether its once to death, or an infinite number of times to geography.
-D. xoxo

Thursday, 30 December 2010


Everyone has to say them. Everyday. 
Some goodbyes are easy; the ones you know aren't forever, between you and your best friend you see everyday, or the ones you hope to be forever; date gone wrong, oddball for a man on the train who won't stop talking to you. 
Some are a lot harder; leaving someone you love dearly, whether that's only for a few days, a few weeks, a couple of months or a more immeasurable length of time. Burying someone in the ground is probably the hardest and most permanent goodbye, and one that no one ever wants to say.
But something I'm discovering is that no matter how many times you have to say it, the word 'goodbye' never gets any easier. Its only seven letters. Its a mere two syllables. It takes a second to say. 
But the finality of those seven letters, the emotional attachment to those two syllables, and the realisation that your loved one is gone one way or another in that second, is the reason that saying goodbye is the hardest thing to do. It might not be the longest word, but saying requires the strength to let go in one way or another. And hearing that seven letter, two syllable, one second word is perhaps the most brutal way of being introduced to it. 
-D. xoxo

Saturday, 4 December 2010


I've always said I live my life by clichés.
The dream of a knight in shining armour, and heartbreak being fixable, the thought of receiving 12 red roses on Valentines day, love being blind. If you love something, you have to set it free. Love conquers all. It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.
I dare say that it is still true; I still live my life by clichés. But it is dangerous business. Think about it. 
My dream of a knight in shining armour. I have to turn away countless losers in tin foil riding donkeys rather than a white horse; setting my standards way up there means I probably miss out on some really good people.
Heartbreak being fixable. Its never fully repaired. Sure, you can get the superglue and sellotape and do your best, but you'll always miss the tiny little pieces, and you'll never find them. Your heart will never really be complete again once it has been broken.
Receiving 12 red roses on Valentines day. It just won't happen.
Love being blind. If love was blind, people wouldn't care how tall you were, or how skinny you were. What colour hair you have. And when someone talks about the person they love, the first question asked wouldn't be 'what do they look like?'
If you love something, you have to set it free. Total lie. 1. you don't have to do anything. 2. humans are selfish little buggers. If they love something, they're not about to release if off into the world for someone else to lay their hands on it.
Love conquers all. No, it really doesn't. Because if that were true, love would conquer distance, and third parties, and age. It would conquer death. If love conquered all, ultimately, we would be living in one hugely overpopulated world.
It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Try telling that to a girl who has had her heart broken so many times she's pretty much lost all the pieces to it, and she's lying shattered on the floor because everyone she's ever loved has left her in some respect. Don't think she'd agree with you really.
Bottom line here; by living life by clichés, I've set myself up for a perfect world which cannot and does not exist. Clichés are dangerous business; they allow you to believe in the impossible.
But perhaps that is the greatest thing about them. They give us something to believe in; something to look up to in wonderment. Just because fairytales aren't true, does it stop us recounting the stories to our children? 
Then why on Earth should I ever stop believing in clichés? 
Well, I can tell you, I will not.
-D. xx

Sunday, 7 November 2010


You know Gaga, trust is like a mirror. You can fix it of its broke...
But you can still see the cracks in that mother fucker's reflection.
Taking a break from the boxes. 
Just for a minute.
You know, it just struck me. All this time, I trusted this person. Lets call them... Sam. I trusted Sam with my whole heart, I believed that she would never let me down or betray me. 
All I can say is that I was wrong. 
It kills me to think that I trusted this girl with my entire life, and now I know she's let me down once, I've no idea how many times she's prepared to do it again. Or how many times she's done it, unbeknownst to me, in the past. 
She's my best friend. I love her dearly. But if I cannot trust her, what is the point in her?
She will say anything to get someone to like her. No matter how much it hurts someone else. That someone else being me, in this particular case.
Its just proven one thing to me.
You can't trust anyone in this world except yourself. And the knowledge of that makes me very sad. Because you need to trust people to get on in life. Its a really bitter statement, and a poor outlook on life, but if I trusted this person who I've known for as long as I can remember and she let me down, so why should I trust someone else, whom I've known for half the time? 
Life is bull.
End of.
-D. xoxo