i’m sorry i’m so difficult

All this talk about
running away-
as far as you can,
to the middle of nowhere.

if only you stopped to think
what if
all you ever wanted to run from
was the pain?

what if
after all this running,
you realize the monsters
were inside all along?

what if
you’re so used to running,
you can no longer stop
and nothing feels safe anymore?


You know, maybe why I yearn to get away so badly- is simply to find a place of solace. But is it really just a more beautiful form of escapism? Am I still running away, like I have all my life? Why does it seem like that’s all I know how to do? What if I never run away from the very thing I’ve been trying to all this while- pain?

we talk about this in therapy- I isolate. That’s how I protect myself. I build walls and I run away, from people, from things, from pain. Even the people I love, even the people I don’t want to run from. When it gets hard, I run as far away as I can because that’s where I know it’s safe, that’s where nobody can hurt me. They don’t understand what it’s like to grow up so incredibly alone, to have lived with this gaping hole of emptiness all my life. They don’t understand what it’s like to feel so unwanted and unloved and inadequate all the time. At some point, it’s easier to pretend the damn hole is not there, to pretend you don’t need people or love or care instead of acknowledging the pain of needing and not getting. At some point you believe it’s your fault, your inherent lack of worth that makes you so unlovable. it bubbles and boils into a self-hatred and need for self-destruction. At some point, you get used to running you can no longer stop.

After all, it’s my safe place. My safe place and my prison. nobody can hurt you, except yourself, and god knows I am my own worst enemy. nobody can hurt me more than I can, nobody can leave me because I isolate myself. I’d isolated myself so well I almost forgot what loneliness felt like, almost forgot I even needed anything. Then the fucking realization hits, that your eating disordered behaviors and self harm and drinking and all impulsive things you do stem from this very need to get away, the crux of self-destruction. When you realize you do want to open up and you want to just rely on someone for once but the fear comes, followed by the insecurity and self-hatred. So what if things are different now? So what if your parents have changed or the people around you have changed? The monsters are no longer around you, they’re in your head. So you isolate again because that’s what’s safe, and the cycle repeats.

i always regret saying too much, caring too much, loving too much. i want all my secrets back. i always end up hurting too much. i just need to be alone. don’t worry, i’m fine, really. i just need some time. i’ll be okay soon, just.. leave me alone. i don’t need anyone. i’m a burden. i’m a mess and if anyone knew, they would leave too. it’s fine. i don’t need anyone. i just want to help them, be there for them. that’s one thing i can do. i can deal with my own problems alone. it’s okay, don’t worry. let me just be here for you. 

Maybe the only reason why my therapist has managed to get so far inside these walls, is because I can’t do the same things I do in every other relationship. It’s literally her job to care about me… though I do make it really hard on her. I open up slowly and close up a lot. It was a struggle at first, so much push and pull- even now sometimes, my defense mechanism is to retreat. I do that a lot less now, admittedly, I’ve come to trust her and rely on her for emotional support much, much, more than what I’m comfortable with. It is uncomfortable, and I am terrified of losing her, and I hate admitting that I need emotional support but she’s been so loving and understanding and patient over time.. she’s also learnt to pry a little and not take what I say at face value, which helps. I wonder if any real relationships would ever be like that, if anyone would ever care enough? if anyone would ask if i’m okay. if I would ever be okay with relying on someone. it’s not that I don’t trust them- I don’t trust me.

Sometimes the realization hits, that I’m so sick of running, but I can’t stop. I can’t stop because once I do, all the pain will catch up to me and I don’t know if I can deal with that. But god, I have been running round and round and round and I don’t know if I’ll ever get out. I want to run away, far far away. where to? I don’t know. away.


pursuit of happiness

I’m in love with places I’ve never been to, and people I’ve never met.

Wanderlust has always existed in my bones, it comes and goes like the waves, though it’s been hitting me more often than not lately. An ever growing bucket-list of places to go, an ache to just get away- somewhere, anywhere. I was talking to friend today, one of those rare people I’m not afraid to share a piece of myself with, and I realized… maybe I’m scared. Is there a part of me that’s scared to be who I want to be, a part that’s scared to leave, a part that’s scared to live? If you ever asked me, I would tell you without a doubt, I know who I am. I know who I am and that has never changed, and yet the edges continue to blur and morph with society’s expectations and my family’s expectations and my expectations. 

We are ultimately a product of our environment, aren’t we? I would like to think of individuals as entire constellations, and yet we are all trapped on the very same lonesome star, the same cycles and systems that keep us in orbit.

Would I burn up in this quest to turn into a shooting star? To live outside the universe, the cycles and systems that keep us in orbit. To burn as bright as I possibly can, while fading into the endless midnight skies. How is it possible to be, and not to be, all at the same time? I think I might know how

just go a little further

Maybe I’d burn brighter than I ever imagined, or maybe I’d fall off the map in this aimless pursuit. Have I ever mentioned, I suck at maps and grids and directions?

Maybe it’s time to find solace in the fact that we are a product of our environment, and yet, we could be so much more than that. I don’t want to be like them, I will never be like them. I don’t want to be a part of this system, a part of this society, a part of everyone around me and the same old ordinary. I am learning to say, some things are simply not for me, learning to say this is who I am and I don’t belong here. And I’m okay with that, I wouldn’t have it any other way. tumblr_ouqv9axnK41uxn3zto1_1280I think of every person I’ve had the privilege of crossing paths with. New friends who have inspired me to live a little more fearlessly in the pursuit of happiness and be myself, old friends who have been a big part of my story, people who have come and go, people who have stayed. The friend who has taught me how far empathy and kindness can go, the teacher who has taught me how you can be authentic, emotional and still successful, the boy who has taught me how to live and love and let go in a random hurricane, the old friends who have taught me how much it hurt to lose myself and everyone around me, the therapist who has taught me how to open up for the first time, the grandparents who have taught me that compassion is boundless and love is unconditional, the ones struggling the most who have taught me what strength and beauty can really mean.

I could go on, for a long time. You see, sometimes people come into your life in the most unexpected of ways, and sometimes people leave just as abruptly. Sometimes they barely leave a mark, sometimes they leave a note in your story forever. Sometimes a scar, sometimes a beautiful reminder- sometimes both. If you’re lucky enough, sometimes they stay a little while longer. I don’t think I would ever really forget. Still, I look around me and wonder at how temporary everyone, everything, is.

I try not to let it hurt too much.

Just as I am very much myself, I am a product of my environment, shaped and touched by everyone I’ve had the privilege of crossing paths with. To me, home isn’t a place, home will always be people. I don’t belong anywhere, but my heart will always belong to those I love and the universe. I would never want to leave, yet I once again find myself yearning for flight. How is it possible to be, and not to be, all at the same time?

Do I need to get away, or do I want to run away?

I have always been a paradox, and collision of a million different things. All I can hope is, I’ll construct a life I love someday- chase happiness and live however I want to. I want to tell this little heart to keep dreaming, keep wanderlust-ing. Nothing is ever too far way, don’t let the muggles (or expectations) ever kill that childlike wonder. It shouldn’t hurt this much, not in an ideal world. One day I’ll be brave enough and crazy enough to do the things I’ve always wanted to do. One day I’ll be okay again, I’ll look into the night sky and feel alive again. One day I’ll no longer have to fade in and out of existence, because I know it’s okay to be. whoever I am, to just be.

Don’t float away, not just yet. Stay here with the ones you love, the ones who stay. e3f401396ee5e36878a6283259030227.jpg

sometimes I think, if I’m not careful, I’d run so far away inside nobody would ever find me again. maybe this is why infps are the crazy ones. the ones who lose themselves if they’re not careful. the ones who love differently and see the world differently. the artists and dreamers and idealists and writers. vincent van gogh. johnny depp. tim burton. hellen keller. edgar allan poe. jk rowling. hans christian andersen. tolkien. I remember how amazed I was when I found out that most of my favorite artists/writers/people.. even fictional characters, were actually all infps. but then again, it makes so much sense. they, too, have helped me find myself- but that’s a post for another time.

There is so much potential for madness, and so much potential for beauty. Perhaps, to see the world the way we do, you need a little touch of crazy. Who’s to say what’s wrong and what’s right? Who’s to say what is and what isn’t? Perhaps, to see the stars, you need to know what true darkness is like. I’ve lost myself too many times, but I’ve found myself again- though not always, and not quite so. Maybe there too, is beauty in the brokenness, directions in the endless constellation maps. that little voice that always whispers, don’t give up on life, don’t stop believing, you’ll find your way someday.

Tonight, I’m thankful for the people who have left in a brick in the path and the people who are walking this path with me. I’m not floating away, not just yet. I’m looking for myself too.

Beware: Sharp Edges

I remember my therapist once asked me, why do I hide everything? Even when I talk to her, there is always a self imposed barricade, the pain always masked with a smile and a ‘oh but don’t worry, I’m okay‘. What am I trying to hide? I told her there is so much pain and ugliness inside, much more than anyone can imagine. Too much for me… or anyone else to bear. I’m scared that if they came too close they would see just how shattered I really am. I’m scared if they came too close my pain would drown them too. It’s been years and nothing’s changed. Every time I go in for a session she asks ‘how have you been‘ and I reply with a smile and ‘I’m fine‘ even though we both know ‘fine’ is never really fine. Sometimes we look at each other and laugh, sometimes she just waits for me to start talking.

Just last session, she asked me how my talk with my teacher went. I had to talk to my teacher to explain why I’d missed school, and tell her what happened with the anxiety and assault and ptsd symptoms. I told my therapist how my teacher was so sad for me, I gave my teacher a hug and comforted her. ‘So, did your teacher offer any support from the school?‘ I nodded. ‘And I’m guessing you said you didn’t need anything?’ I nodded again. At that point, my therapist just… I don’t think she meant to show it, but I could see it clear as day on her face, her heart breaking a little. ‘oh you silly girl, I’m not surprised you did this… but you really don’t have to be strong, you really don’t have to take care of the people who are meant to take care of you‘.

It’s been a recurring theme over the course of these 4 years of therapy. ‘You don’t have to be strong’, ‘it’s okay to ask for help’, ‘I’m your therapist, I’m here for you, you don’t have to take care of my feelings’, ‘are you really really sure everything’s fine?’. The best one: “I’m going to bring a bell for our sessions and ring it every time you downplay things or say ‘it’s not that bad’ or ‘it’s okay‘”. She says these things because she knows me better than anyone, she knows the depths of the pain I hold inside, she’s seen me at every breaking point. She’s the only one who’s seen me really break down. She’s the one I’ve turned to every time it got too much, she knows how exhausting it is. Admittedly, I’ve gotten much better at asking for help, I no longer wait until I’m at the very end of my rope before reaching out, now I actually do it a lot sooner- I’ve learnt to drop her an email or book an extra appointment to get the support I need. She was so proud of me for asking to see her the next day after the assault happened. I didn’t want to ask for help, but I did anyway. I still tried to brace her for the impact though, I tried to say it wasn’t a big deal but I still remember how her face crumpled as soon as she heard about it.

Actually, I remember almost every time I felt her heart break for me- the times I told her about my family or my father or the things I feel and the things I’ve been through, every time I open a trapdoor to the floodgates. It’s so honest and raw, and I’m thankful. She’s not condescending the way some Doctors are and she doesn’t feel sorry for me, she just really.. empathizes, it’s an unspoken connection of ‘I’m so sorry, that is so awful and you don’t deserve that, and I don’t know what to say‘. I’ve don’t know how to accept it because I’m so used to keeping it all inside. I used to laugh and shrug it off, now I just sit there silently.. that’s an improvement, I suppose? I couldn’t count the number of times she asked me ‘why didn’t you tell me sooner?‘ and my answer was ‘I didn’t want you to worry‘. I don’t know how to not take care of others. We’ve talked about this a million times, how all my relationships are one sided, how I always give and never take, and it’s not always a good thing.

That’s all I want to do though- is to care, because it comes naturally to me. It means so much to me when my friends come to me for support, because I genuinely want to be there for them. Sometimes my friends offer me support, I know they will listen and be open, they will be here and I’m thankful, yet I still can’t talk. A part of it comes from not wanting to be a burden, a part of it is ingrained in who I am, and a part of it is wanting to protect the ones I love. The closer I am to you, the more I back away when I’m hurt, the more I want to care for you, to protect you from me.

You see it in the way I reassure my best friend that I’m doing okay, the forced laughter after I told my friend about things that have happened to me, the casual shrugs after my classmates found out about my relationship with my parents, even my smiles in my psychiatrist’s office. I push everyone away because that’s all I’ve ever learnt to do- I carry the pain inside, alone. If you saw how broken I was, you wouldn’t recognize me. You wouldn’t recognize the girl on the bathroom floor or the girl on the ER bed or the girl on top of the bridge. I don’t recognize her either. People only recognize the girl who’s always put together, the one always smiling and there for you, that ‘pretty, rich girl’. There have come to be a few I trust, mostly my therapist, but also a few friends. I’ve mastered the art of telling someone about myself without letting any of the emotions out. My therapist once said, “you know, you talk about your assault or illnesses or traumatic experiences like you’re talking about the weather”.

I don’t know how else to talk about it. It took me so long to even start talking to my therapist or get to this point. I reference my therapist so much because that relationship is the only relationship in my life that has gotten this far, and that’s only because it’s literally her job. Even with my closest friends, I still hide so much. Every time it gets hard again, I retreat into my shell. I don’t know how to say ‘I’m not who you think I am, I’m more broken than you could ever imagine”, “you don’t want to know what I’ve been through, if I told you, you wouldn’t know what to do”, “sometimes there is so much pain I don’t know where it ends and where I begin”, “I hide it from everyone including myself”. I have been to incredibly dark places. I am not who you think I am, and if anyone had the slightest glimpse into my head or the things I’ve been through, they would probably break down. I just want to protect those I love from my sharp edges, there are too many of them. I’m used to it though, I’m used to this pain. I’m used to carrying it all alone, I’m used to being ‘strong’. I never ask for support unless I’m at the end of my rope and it takes a lot (and I mean, a lot, to push me there). Maybe it’s not the healthiest, what can I do? I’m still learning to open up, I guess… maybe I’m making progress, slowly but surely. It’s still easier for me to put my feelings onto a blog post or tell a bunch of faceless strangers on the internet than to talk to the ones I love. I just don’t want to hurt you. I just don’t want to hurt anyone. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s not that bad. See?


You see, the thing with ‘good’ days like these, is that just makes me feel so.. ‘inside’ myself. I’ve been feeling more dissociated and distant than usual, it takes me a lot of effort to ground myself and stay in the moment. Otherwise, most of the time it feels like I’m watching everything around me happen like a movie, an invisible fourth wall between me and the real world. I’ve always been like that, part of it is just.. me. I naturally withdraw, I live in my own head and I observe. But this doesn’t feel right, somehow, I don’t feel like myself. I’m neither here nor there, I don’t feel like anything or anyone at all. I ‘laughed’ so much today at yet if you listen closely, you’d have realized how forced and hollow it really is. I have somehow faded into a shell, unknowingly. A side effect of depression, or restriction, or both?

tumblr_o2u41wLZAx1rpoo8ro2_1280I hate how much effort it takes for me to simply participate in life. Actually, I don’t mind being here, alone. As horrible as this might sound- I like where I am right now, safe and curled up with the disorder, numb and away from the world. It’s just that, I’m so hyper-aware of the fact that these are all precious moments that I need to savor. Deep down somewhere, I know the real me- wherever she is, she would want to live. Not survive, no, she is built for more than just surviving and always has been. She would want to live and be alive, and feel.

She is built upon emotions and her heart will always be a floodgate. She would tell me to live and love and feel, fearlessly, because life is way too short to be wasted like this. I’ll only ever be 18 once, only ever be right here in this moment once, only ever feel all things I feel right now once. I’ll never have another moment of laughing and talking in the carpark with Ms O and my friends again, never have another chance to be with these very people at these exact moments. I spent far too long in the dark, consumed by single-minded pursuits and an almost blissful unawareness of anything but my disorder, and what I (it) wanted.

I know, as I do with the simple certainty of this beating heart, that I have fought like hell to get to where I am today.

I am proud of how far I’ve come from those dark places. I have continuously faltered and stumbled along the way, and yet here I am, still here and worlds apart from the girl I used to be. But maybe that’s not enough, because here I am, still here with the same self-hatred and beliefs that have plagued me all my life. The same thoughts, the same desires, the same pain that’s never left. It’s almost too easy to slip into the shell of who I used to be, this pain that has come to fit me like a second skin.

tumblr_o2u41wLZAx1rpoo8ro1_1280I look back onto happier days & moments of joy, I look back and hold on as tight as I can. The funny thing is, those times weren’t really the rose tinted bliss I remember it to be. I know I was still struggling, the pain and self-hatred and disordered thoughts were never far away. I guess I simply chose to filter out the good bits to hold on to- I don’t have much– I’ll take what I can get and keep those moments locked away forever, somewhere safe.

I look back and I miss it all so much, I miss living and I miss being myself. I miss the days in the sun, those split seconds of pure, elevated bliss, those times where I’ve looked into the endless sky, or the ocean, and truly felt free. I have spent far too long in the dark and most days, it still feels like that. I’ve fallen countless times, risen to experience momentary sunlight or simply keep my head above water, only to fall again, sometimes harder than before.

I look back at wonder where all that.. life, went. Maybe restricting food, is also restricting life, and numbing pain, is also numbing life.

And yet, I need to remember I am not who I used to be. I was telling some friends, that our disorders grow and mature and change along with us. I might still be struggling, but I have learned so much about myself and my disorder on the way here. It is no longer a simple-minded pursuit of a single goal, it is a coping skill, an anesthetic, a friend- it is a something I don’t know how to get rid of. Now I know, it is so many different things. Now I know, there is life outside waiting for me and I can choose it if I want to, someday. If I’m brave enough.

Maybe it’s not just choosing ‘recovery’ or ‘relapse’ that matters, because how do you draw the line anyway? Over the past 5 years I’ve struggled with good times and bad times- times where the disorder was quieter and times where it was unbearably loud, times where I could almost pretend it didn’t exist and times where it controlled my entire life. The disorder morphed and changed, as I did. I was never in real ‘recovery’ and never made the decision to, and yet, I grew and learned, regardless. My ‘relapses’ aren’t real relapses because I wasn’t in recovery, but they’re still relapses from the better periods in life. Ultimately, it’s the journey that matters, the small things we choose to do, the words we choose to speak to ourselves with. I am broken, but, maybe not inherently so- none of us are inherently broken, it was simply the world that smashed us into pieces. Who knows, maybe someday I won’t have to break myself to try to find myself anymore. Maybe I’ll find it in me to fight to live again. I’m in a deep deep hole right now that I can’t don’t want to get out of, but maybe it’s not the end- it never really is. No hole is too deep to evade the sun’s rays forever, right?


why do I find myself constantly yearning?
for life and adventure and a momentary thrill
for love and sheer unadulterated bliss
yearning for deeper valleys and higher peaks
yearning for more

to hit a new goal weight, a new high, to see how far I can go
I don’t know if it will ever be enough.
why do I find myself attracted to everything that takes me away?
away from life, away from reality
away from pain

I run away in art and daydreams
in books and magical fictional worlds
in travelling and exploring
I run away in numbers and numbness and control
even if it’s just a mirage

I run as fast as I can, until I find myself

I suppose that’s just who I am, and it manifests itself in different ways, good and bad. I see the good in everything, viewing brokenness through rose-tinted glasses- but I fall trap to idealism and escapism. I’m drawn to the stars and the ocean and the great unknown, I’m drawn to self-destruction and numbing pain- anything that will take me away. I find meaning in anything and everything, I see more and feel more and want more. Sometimes it’s never enough. This chaotic, kaleidoscopic soul of mine will take me on adventures and travel the world and climb mountains and meet people and learn and live. It will also lead me straight into the dark woods, jump headfirst into the rabbit hole and never find a way out, trapped by chains of fear and insecurity and the pure wrath of self-hatred. 

perhaps if you knew me, you’d get a better glimpse at how my eating disorder is a part of who I am, or how the best and worst parts of me are actually the same- and I can’t quite figure it out. 

“If you looked down to the bottom of my soul, you would understand fully the source of my longing and pity me. Even the open, transparent lake has its unknown depths, which no divers know.”
– Hans Christian Andersen

fading into nothing

There is one particular disordered thought I’ve always had, but never quite been able to express to anyone.

I’ll recover only when I’m hospitalized

Because only then, will I ‘sick enough‘ to be able to recover, even if recovery has always been the long term goal regardless. Why has hospitalization always been a goal? Why do I crave all the physical signs of damage to my body, as if to prove something? Why is sicker, better? The endless tugging, desire pooling in the crevices and empty spaces of a heart left in pieces. Something inside applauds the missed period, the dizzy spells, the constant shivering and cold, sharp bones- while the healthy blood tests and healthy heart and healthy body leaves an inexplicable, stinging pain. And the most painful of them all? A healthy weight.

It’s not the kind of thing you bring up in everyday conversation.

The desire comes and goes in waves, but the fire never really put out. A part of me quietly shuns these thoughts and desires that nobody-can-ever-know, a certain shame in the knowledge that all of this exists in the workings of a disordered mind. Yet all the gears click perfectly in place. It makes perfect sense in the hierarchy of the disordered mind. If every dizzy spell and low number is an accomplishment, hospitalization is the ultimate victory. If I’m hospitalized, that surely means I’ll finally be sick enough. good enough. I’ll finally be good enough, for once.

That was my benchmark for recovery.

A part of me still wants to get to that point, but part of me also realizes how stupid it is to destroy myself and my body for a fake sense of control and a temporary peace of mind. I want move forward, and yet I want to fling myself as far back as I can before doing so, as if I needed to make the journey harder than it already is.

There are many times where I doubt it, the thought comes and goes, circling in an orbit- but deep down, I want to recover eventually. I need to pick myself up, stop being such a coward and chose to recover. I need to stop being scared of living and actually just fucking live. I need to stop being so absolutely terrified of happiness and everything good that I actually want. I’ve spent almost an entirety of my teenage years living this way, I don’t want to spend my whole life living surviving with these disorders. I need to recover eventually.

I need to, but I don’t want to.


Yes, even after all these years and everything I’ve learnt- I still feel like I need to be ‘sick enough‘ before I can consider recovery. I don’t know what ‘sick enough‘ looks like or if I’ll ever even get there, but I want to try anyway. I want to wander so close to the edge that if I reached out far enough, I might finally soar. I need to. I need to just be good enough for once in my life, good enough at something. I need to be thin, I need to be sick, I need my body to fail on me. I need the numbness euphoria of emptiness. I need to fly and I can’t stop until I hit rock bottom. or maybe I’ll finally fly away from everyone, and everything , and all this pain, floating into nonexistence.

like a train going on full speed ahead, I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I couldn’t even find the will to want to.

Perhaps I’ll never recover, or maybe I’m not even sick at all to begin with. Maybe I’ll never be satisfied, never be sick enough. Maybe the taste of heaven we’re so desperately searching for is but a highway to hell. The thing about living with an eating disorder, is that you’re not really living. A life dictated by numbers and fears and numbness is not much of a life at all. When I step outside of this disorder to look around, I realize I’m so very, very lost. At least the numbers are a compass, easy to follow, even if it leads me nowhere.

41 40 39 38 37 36 35

Will it ever be enough?
Will you find me then?
The very last voice holding onto reason
is fading into a mere whisper,
and the others growing impatient.

I’m sorry if I lose myself,
in an endless pursuit
for perfection and control

a rose-tinted portrait of your ultimate goal weight / like somehow, seeing that number would bring order to a chaotic mind world, make everything okay again

a taste of euphoria
a peace of mind
or simply, self-destruction?
numb the world / pretend everything is okay / something to hold onto / spinning until you’re off the rails
fading into nothing.

Though I suppose,
You can’t lose yourself if you’re already lost.
Whatever it takes
I just need to find myself,
even if it means going further into this labyrinth
and praying I come out alive.
Perhaps I should have stopped and turned around, but
perhaps this will take me where I need to be
i don’t know.

I just hope we find ourselves somewhere,
and all I can hope is at the end of it all,
I stumble outside the labyrinth
ready to live.

expecto patronum

Actually, there’s a lot I want to say.

but nothing ever comes out because I’m somehow too numb and tired, and the feelings are all trapped in this caged chest, only ever seeping through the cracks at night, shape-shifting shadows in the form of sadness. the dementors continue to circle.

a soothing presence, a smothering presence-  be careful, the invisibility cloak protects you, but it can also choke you.

I play this game well. You learn to fool everyone, including yourself.

Ingredients: A touch of makeup, a brave smile, and an unassuming tinkling of laughter. Tell yourself ‘I will keep going, everything will be okay‘. Say it enough and you might almost believe the demons no longer exist.

expecto patronum.