Saturday, 27 February 2010


My third velvet box, opened.
Inside, lies every single tree I've ever cut down from writing all my feelings in countless diaries. I have probably, single-handedly destroyed well over half of the Brazilian Rainforest. Think about all the paper I've ruined with countless out pourings of feelings. Think about all the trees that have died because of my ignorance. Did I care that the rainforest lain home to thousands of different walks of life? Or that those trees were some of the best to slow the process of Global Warming? Of course not. I was just an ignorant child, interested only in myself. I feel guilty. Ashamed, almost.
But do you know what the scary thing is? I would cut down a thousand more if I thought it would bring him back.That is what lies at the roots of this box. The feeling that if I accomplish enough, if I do enough in his memory, or he came back and would promise to never leave again if I did certain things; I would go out and do it all. I would do anything he asked of me. I would write his name in the sky. I would make every day sunny and deal with the droughts that followed. I would cry him an ocean, bleed him a river, kill him a hundred. I won't deny it; if it brought him back, I would do anything. But, he isn't like that. He was never like that. He never asked anything of anyone, really. He didn't take much. He gave a lot. He received a lot involuntarily. He was the depiction of an angel. He would never ask me to cry an ocean. He wouldn't make me work for his love. He would give it, or he wouldn't.
And he wouldn't. I shall banish this box. He is not worth everything in the world; he never was, and he never will be. No one is worth a river of blood. He may have been an angel, but something he wasn't:
He was not perfect.
Three velvet boxes, open and redundant.
LoveLoveLove x

Sunday, 21 February 2010


My second velvet box, opened.
Inside, lies all my self pitying moments. The times when I sat at my window, staring up to the stars, questioning them countless times, why exactly it had to be me it all happened to. Why did it have to be me that fell in love with a complete idiot? Why did it have to be me that had her best friend die right before her eyes? I sat there with him, watching the light leave his eyes as he bled out on the street. I had to tell him that it would be okay, that it was only a flesh wound and that in a while, he would be fine. I sat with him while he was in a coma, on life support, watching him as he looked like an angel sleeping. Then I got him back, once he came out of it, only to have to lose him a second time, to the hands of death. This time, it was forever.
Why did it have to be my boyfriend that was the cheater? And me, the one who had everyone she ever loved, leave her? Why was it me that my mother could never love?
You see, when I was going through all this, I thought I had the worst life in the world. But I forgot all those people in Africa. In Thailand. Who can't go to school, because they have no money. Who starve, if the harvest is bad. I was selfish. So, essentially, my violet box is the selfish side of me. And I will banish her. That selfish girl, who only thought about herself. She is now gone. Out of the velvet box, out of my mind.
Two velvet boxes, open and redundant.
LoveLoveLove x

Saturday, 20 February 2010


My first velvet box, opened.
Inside, lies all the reasons I decided to change my hair colour.
From brunette, to... plum. There's no other way to describe the colour.
And there's quite a few of them, I assure you.
I never felt good enough. I wanted a change. I wanted my mother to love me. She always puts me down, and I thought if I changed, she would finally approve. I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. I saw someone who was never right. Never pretty enough. Or funny enough. Or smart enough.
But that wasn't the main reason.
The main reason, was... I looked in the mirror, and I saw someone that he couldn't... wouldn't love. I thought, maybe if I changed my hair and turned over a new leaf, he would come running back and he would realise how much he loves me. But, of course, this is not a fairytale. And it would never have happened anyway. But it was the only hope I had. And somehow, that hope is still alive, in this box. And I will keep it alive, but now, I'll embrace it, rather than shove it in a box because I think its shameful after two years to still love him. To still want him to come back. But its not. And I've accepted that.
One box, open and redundant.
I have made a start. And what I start, I finish. So, for a while, my blog will consist mainly of opening my little velvet boxes.
LoveLoveLove x


I went to the cinema today. And walking in there, I was not very appreciative of life. I was the same. We take things for granted in this life. And nothing more so than life. I watched the film with my Sister for Life, Demii, and we were crying practically the whole way through. So the film finished, the lights came up, we waltzed out of the cinema. And after watching that poor girl die on that screen, watching her go through that emotional pain of seeing her family fall apart because of it, it struck a chord within me. Somehow, as the world floats by, we never notice how beautiful it is. Its magical. The sky shines in endless shades of blue and gold. The clouds drift slowly across the scape. The streets make a comforting 'click-clack' as I step on them. The shop signs shine in colours I never knew existed.
And I am so glad to be alive.
-D. xox

Thursday, 18 February 2010

Little velvet boxes

Inside the corners of my mind,
Buried deep within themselves,
Are little locked velvet boxes.

I can tell you what lies inside every coloured cavity.

In the blue,
A thousand tears cried for a lost one,
Who stared out at the world with sapphire eyes.

In the green,
The envious hatred I felt for her as she stole
The one thing I held so dear.

In the orange,
The fire and frustration that seethes
Beneath my misunderstood flesh.

In the yellow,
Few precious memories of a rarity
We only define as happiness.

In the purple,
Countless nights spent staring to the stars,
Wondering why it had to be me.

In the white,
Years of my life, years spent
Innocent and beautiful.

In the black,
The rotting part of my aching heart,
Slowly gathering in mass.

In the brown,
The masses of forest I've destroyed
With pages of feelings.

In the gold,
One, beautiful moment of my life,
Slowly fading away.

And in the red,
The deep, crimson box,
Lies my most shameful secret.

In the red box,
The drops of pain that ooze
From my very soul.

The little crimson drops
Of blood.


Your tube post. It...
It makes me laugh.
Really, really laugh.
I haven't laughed like that in months.
And I know its random,
I know its a wierd thing to say.
But it always makes me laugh,
Because it reminds me of life.
Of reality. It reminds me
That I'm not a complete loon.
Or a total loner.
Because there are people.
Poeple everywhere.
All over.
And crammed on your bus when the tubes strike :)

Never get used to this...

I'm used to you being selfless and innocent. I'm used to you sitting there and taking it all in, without being bitter towards everything I'm trying to express. I'm used to being able to tell you everything that's on my mind, without censoring parts of it because I know it'll hurt you.
So I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Its not you that needs to apologise. Its me. Because you've been keeping it up, not showing me how much you hate him and any other man who lays claim to me. You don't show it, for my sake. But I never thought of you.So I'm apologising, and telling you that I will try. For you.
-D. xox

Wednesday, 17 February 2010

My dirty little secret, out in the open.

So, tell the group why you do what you do.
I do it because... Well, at first it was just because I needed to feel physical pain, to release the emotional pain inside me. So that I could cry everything away. So that I wouldn't feel like I was suffocating in my own body. And then my mother found out. And it was one of those moments where, when someone tells you not to do something, you go and do it anyway, as an act of... defiance. So, a few more times, I proceeded with it, hoping that she would see, trying to cope, trying to defy my mother's wishes, trying to stay sane. Then, after that, when I told my friends and I saw their reactions, it made me realise how stupid it was, and I stopped. But it was an everyday battle not to go back to it. But I did. I have. Its an addiction. One of the most addicting things any sane person would ever throw themselves into. You might not realise how addicting and alluring the sight of your own pain caused by your own hand is. Your own blood, leaving your body because of your actions. For just a second, you don't feel the pain. All you feel is release. You feel in control of yourself, for those few precious seconds, and its enough to keep you going for a couple of days. But then you stop feeling okay. And you have to do it again. Its a coping mechanism. To cope with life. People who self harm do not want to die. Its actually quite the opposite. They want to live. So, so badly. So much, that they will do anything to do so. When you can stop, you don't want to. And when you can't, there's nothing more you'd want to do than to stop. Its an everyday battle not to go back to it. And its a battle I lost. I can't help but smile as pain fills me up. I remember this feeling from long, long ago, when I did it the first time. And it is such a good feeling. One I remember well. One I yearned for. One I had denied myself for eight months. And with good reason, too. Its an addictive feeling. You feel it once, and you have to go back for more. Emotional pain is the worst kind of pain, because no one else can feel it, no one else can see it, no one else even knows it exists, but you feel it, and you can't explain it no matter how hard you try to. So you have to deal with it yourself, and my way is cutting.
I'm a cutter.
Sshhh... don't tell anyone.
It's socially unacceptable that I express pain.

Monday, 15 February 2010


Deanna, what's the matter?
I... I...
You keep looking out the window. What are you waiting for?
I keep wishing for him to reappear. I look down, to that corner of that street, by the green gate, and I can almost see him walking along. Then, he'll spot me at the window, and wave up at me, or flash me one of his flawless smiles, and then he would run up to the door, up the stairs to the attic where I had waited, and he would... he would sweep me off my feet and take me away. But no matter how hard I look, no matter what time of day it is, or where I go, or what I do, he's not there... I ....

And I danced. I danced my heart out for him.
For you. Because you're not here. And that's not okay. Not for me. But its what I have to live with. What I'll always have to live with. So I dance. I dance it all away.

Thursday, 11 February 2010

Nothing but trouble...

I don't really know what the fuck I was thinking, writing a blog in the first place. And then giving it to you to read. Because I knew damn well that it would hurt you. And yet, I still carried on with it, still wrote more, knowing it was tearing you up, knowing all that because you had said so. I didn't have to write anymore. I could've ended it once I found - dare I speak his name around you anymore - Stuart. But no, I carried on, I became addicted to writing my life on the net; in the process, I've forgotten how much you really meant to me. I knew what I was doing, I wasn't intoxicated when I wrote all those things and said all that stuff, I wasn't on drugs or high on any sort of emotion. I was completely sane, completely aware of the words I was speaking. I knew. So I built your hopes up, so, so high, by pouring all of this truth from my soul about how much I needed you. Because it was true. And it still is true. Maybe it doesn't look that way. But it is. And you know what? Be mad at me. Scream at me. Because, in spite of everything you've ever done for me, I repay you by doing... this. Everything on this blog, most would call art. Most would praise. Most would become entranced reading it. All I see, looking back on the whole thing, is a monster. A complete and utter monster. Its so frustrating. I knew what I was doing... I knew the consequences... but I still did it.
What. An. Idiot.
I don't have anything more to say to myself. I'm too mad at myself, too frustrated, too annoyed and too pissed off at myself. Because I was stupid. To the highest degree. I can't change it. The only thing I could do would be to run away.
Sounds good to me.
I'll fucking go now.

Gotta love my mother.

My mother said something rather intriguing the other day. she said:

"There will come a time when you will not be so tolerant."

I wanted to ask her what she meant, and how on Earth it related back to Stuart. But she told me to figure it out for myself.
I think I know what she means now. Because she said that after I told her that he wasn't coming over that day. She means that, maybe I won't want to wait for him forever. I'm fine about waiting till next weekend now, but what about in three months time? Or a year? Ten years? Will I want to wait then, when there are other people I could have? I see where she's coming from, and its the first time she's said it aloud, because normally I go off on one at her for dissing my relationship. I am okay about waiting. Maybe I'll be moody all week, but I'm okay about it. I asked for this. I'm the one in theatre, with the hectic schedule. I didn't have to choose this life, I could've been normal, got a normal job, lived a normal life. But maybe, if I'd done all that, I wouldn't have met Stuart. And I certainly wouldn't have met Hugo, or Sam, or Demii. So my life has its pros, and its cons.
Maybe more cons than pros.
But while the pros are few, they are large :)
That has to be a good thing!
-D xox

Sunday, 7 February 2010

Lucky is all I can be.

I spent my day, wrapped in your arms. I was safe there, I felt your heart beat there; the rhythm my soul dances to. Today, I remembered why I fell in love with you. We sat there, and we had a good laugh. A really good laugh. We messed around, we acted like ourselves. I wasn't afraid to hurt you. I wasn't afraid you would walk out on me. When you text me, I'm sitting there smiling at my phone because it says your name and 'one new message' in the box. After six months, you still give me butterflies. That means something to me. That means something, because no one has ever done this to me before. I eat, drink, sleep and breathe you. And the most memorable part of my day? You said that your friends think you're really lucky. They ask if I have any mates for them, or they tell you that I'm a keeper, or they'll ask you how you managed to get me. The irony in all that is; you're not the lucky one in this relationship. By far, I am the luckier of the two. You might say that Sam is missing out, and lost out in the long run by losing me. You might call me beautiful, and tell me I'm not fat; but the truth is, I'm no prettier than some of your other friends. Nor am I any skinnier, or smarter, or funnier. I just was just in the right place at the right time. I'm lucky though. Look at you. You're like a God. I won't even try to ruin you with words. I will just say this:
Forget everyone else who has ever held a claim to my heart.
Because after today, I will not and cannot think of anybody else but you.
Love, Your Deanna. :) xx

Friday, 5 February 2010

Falling into your gravity...

I dreamt of you again. Except, this time was different from before. You were behind me, pressing against me. You whispered something in my ear which I can' recall exactly; it was something along the lines of 'nothing makes me feel this good.' It made me turn around to face you. And in that second, I kissed you. Really kissed you. No protesting thoughts of Stuart or feelings of guilt, only the fluttering of butterflies in the depths of my stomach. Then, when you didn't pull away, my hand, once limp at my side, found yours and my fingers became laced between yours. This, unfortunately, was the point at which I awoke. Not as much actually happened in this dream as in the last one with you, but this one was far more intense than the last. And when I woke, I was genuinely confused. Not guilty, not sad, not shocked: confused. Because I did not imagine those butterflies. They were very real. And when I saw you today, I felt those butterflies again. I remembered what it was like to kiss you, to hold your hand. For someone who has never kissed a girl, you were pretty damn good at it in my dream. But my only dilemma is; you don't love me back. If you did, it would be great.
Maybe I would come running.
But for now, all I have is my dreams to keep me warm...
-D. xox

Monday, 1 February 2010

You were never sorry.

The café buzzed with a sense of relaxation. The smell of strong, brewed coffee filled the air, along with the faint smells of perfume, freshly baked cookies and soft, luscious pastries. The scene outside was a dismal one: rain thundered down on the tiled roofs of the trading stores and the umbrellas of weary shoppers. The young people walked with fatigue-stricken steps; rosy cheeks and lips showing signs of the heat they felt struggling uphill, despite the cold spring morning. The elderly walked with smiles on their wrinkled faces; the hands of age already touching and pinching at their frail skin. It was a nice morning. A nice picture.

Yet, here I sit, waiting for you. I've been waiting, coffee - once hot, now freezing in my hand, because you can't be asked to turn up to lunch on time. Forty-five minutes is hardly being fashionably late. And I know exactly where you are. But lets not worry about that yet. I'll just simmer away, waiting for you to show your face.

Finally, you show up. Your beautiful bronze hair, normally tousled and shimmering now soaked through from the rain. You have one of those beautiful crooked smiles on your face. The exact one you know would normally melt my heart.
Not this time.

'I'm so sorry I'm late, I got stuck in the -'
'I don't want to hear it,' I say with a warm smile on my face. You soften slightly as I smile.
I say with the biggest, warmest smile on my face, before you can say another word:
'I know about you and Becca. And you and your cousin.'

Your face drops. 'I can explain...'
'No. I'm sorry, but you messed with me. You messed me around, you messed with my best friend. That was your one chance. You blew it. So I'm sorry for ever falling into your seductive trap. And I'm sorry I ever met you.'
I get up, get my cold cup of coffee, and pour it over your head.
Then, without one look back, I walk out.