Becoming, Lucy

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  • When I Can’t Find The Words

    I struggle to articulate my thoughts sometimes.
    Often.

    I can feel the words on my tongue
    or like a static in my chest,
    but I cant tune into the frequency.

    It’s frustrating,
    It spills out as tears,
    or as anger.

    90% of the time it’s tears.

    Since I started journaling,
    letting the words fall out of me,
    I have found it easier.
    Maybe I’m not speaking the words out loud,
    but I am getting my truth out,
    without the tears, without the anger.

    It has been good.

    I am angry.
    I am upset.
    You let me down,
    again.

    I will retreat,
    I will make myself smaller.
    I will quieten myself,
    again.

    I don’t want to fight.
    I don’t want to shout.
    It won’t help.

    Have you given up?
    Are you tired of me?
    Do you even notice?
    You don’t even notice.

    Everything is fine,
    You think.

    I don’t want to wear my mask anymore.
    I don’t want to stay quiet anymore.

    If I use my voice, will you notice?
    Will you care?

    Don’t leave.
    Don’t leave me.
    Please stay.
    Stay with me.

    Maybe I should stay quiet.

  • The Mirror

    You watch me every morning and every evening.

    It’s our routine.

    Do you talk to your friend across the hall about me?

    Do you see what I see?

    Do you see how I avoid your gaze?

    I need you (both) though, I can’t avoid you (both) completely.

    But I find it hard to face you (both).

    I wonder if we’ll ever be friends.

    Will I ever be able to look at you and feel happiness?

    Do you like seeing me?

    Do you like our routine?

    Would you tell me I’m beautiful?

    Would you mean it?

  • The Joke’s On Me

    I’m laughing at myself.

    I started this blog so I had somewhere to write, somewhere to pour out my thoughts from my overthinking brain, and told myself it might make someone else feel less alone.

    The joke is on me.

    I’m putting my thoughts on the internet so I feel less alone.

    What a silly sausage I am.

    I guess whatever makes me feel better, right?

  • Thank You For Staying, Demons

    I tried writing a letter to my past self today. I couldn’t do it.

    It wasn’t that it felt too emotionally hard or it physically hurt, it was the fact I had nothing to say. I wanted to tell her that she was strong and she isn’t alone but when I think back to her, she was alone.

    As I wrote, a moment flashed in my mind. A teenager, pacing her room, crying silently, unable to breathe as she fights the demons in her head, telling them to be quiet. The memory flashed in my mind as an observer, not as if I was reliving it but I was in the corner of the room watching her mouth speak the word ‘help’, but no sound came out. Her body slumped against the wall as she collapsed to the floor, broken, seconds away from submitting to the demons, but then she looked at me. Her bloodshot eyes met mine and for just a second, you could see hope.

    She would eventually submit to the demons a few months later and attempt to take her life anyway.

    I don’t remember dreaming of the future. I remember dreaming of being demon free, I remember dreaming of having dreams, dreaming of hope.

    I used to picture myself as someone else, someone happy, someone who had a million dreams and went on to achieve them… Am I that person now?

    I don’t feel like that person now. I have emptied some of my demons though. My mind used to be a crowded underground station, demons shoulder to shoulder. Now I can count the demons, sometimes there’s more than I can count on two hands, but it never gets out of control, it never gets too much.

    Maybe I was right to have hope.

    Maybe I’m not alone.

    Maybe my demons are my hope.

    Maybe my demons make sure I’m not alone.

    My demons make me strong.

    Thank you for staying with me, demons.

  • Here

    Wrote this right after my diary entry… I needed it out of me.

    Feeling.

    Feeling isn’t hard.

    We all feel.

    I feel so far apart.

    I am not here.

    I am there.

    Where is there?

    Not here.

    I am not.

    I am not.

    I am.

    Here.

    Here.

    No.

    There.

    Let me be here.

    Let me feel here.

    Let me feel.

    Let me.

    Let.

    Please.

  • Dear Diary, I have nothing to say…

    Dear Diary,

    It’s cold today. I don’t feel as though I have much to say. It has been an average Saturday. Storm Amy wasn’t as bad as they made out it was going to be (at least not where I am, I hope everyone else is safe and well) so I managed to get out this morning and also this afternoon.

    I took the boys on a puddle walk, they loved running through the puddles and jumping up and down. The toddler face planted a lot and the oldest ended up making puddles in my kitchen with the amount of water in his wellies… (Remind me to buy him some new wellies).

    It hasn’t really been a day of letting my mind wander or having the time to. The weekend is hard with two young kids, especially when they’re not easily entertained for more than 30 minutes by one activity. That’s a lie, they are, it usually just involves lots of shouting and loud noises which obviously drives any parent crazy after awhile, even those that claim they love it. Who loves hearing their children shout for 12 hours straight? 6am – 6pm. No.

    I shared something really raw and vulnerable earlier on my blog, kind of freaked me out pressing publish but I knew I had to share it, I know I won’t be the only one with those thoughts. I feel as though I am just writing for the sake of writing currently… I feel disconnected from myself today honestly.

    I am in tune with my emotions. That’s a lie. I feel my emotions really strongly physically but I struggle to name them sometimes, or resolve them. Any therapists who read this are probably saying it’s okay to feel them and I should feel them, just not for too long. But how does one feel an emotion when they are not sure where that emotion is coming from, when they are not sure what is causing it?

    Maybe I should write about something bothering me. I have things bothering me. If I write about them though, I am naming them, I have to confront them. That scares me. This reminds me of something that happened this week actually. A friend of mine suggested writing a letter to someone I am no longer in contact with, not to send but to just get my emotions out there and I gave them the same reply ‘that scares me, I don’t want to confront my emotions and thoughts.’

    Why am I so scared? Why am I so scared to feel?

    I wrote the letter to that person in the end. But I didn’t do it properly. I wrote it as if I was sending them it so I held back, I didn’t say everything I was really feeling or thinking. I should try again, I know. But guess what? I’m scared.

    Gosh, I hate myself. No. That’s not true. I’m learning to love myself. I love myself.

    I just picked up my phone to distract myself from my thoughts. I realised after about 2 minutes what I had done and threw my phone back down. I need to write. I need to face my fears. I need to stop being scared. I need to process. I need to heal.

    I can take my time. I can take one small step. I can do it slowly. I can do it.

    I started today’s entry with nothing to say and somehow ended up here. Admitting I’m scared of feeling. I feel everything so deeply, even the small things.

    We’re all scared of feeling. But being scared is holding me back. I want to be my true self. I want to get there. I can get there.

    Nice chatting to you diary. Thanks for letting me spiral.

  • My Brain Feels Heavy

    I have thoughts. Don’t we all? Ha. No. I mean, so many. So many thoughts that I can’t hear them or see them or make sense of them.

    The overwhelm is too much.

    I want to feel. I want something to bring me joy, to feel a surge of, I’m presuming dopamine is what my body wants.

    But this feels different. I cant explain it. I feel stuck but also not at all, like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be currently.

    But here feels so weird, so uncomfortable, so lost.

    25. 25. 25.

    What a funny little age.

    I’ve only been on earth for twenty five years, then lets instantly minus 16 of those years because I’m still a kid. Fuck it. Make it 18. I’m still a kid. Fuck it. Make it 21. I’m still a kid.

    I had kids when I was a kid. 20 my first baby. 23 my second.

    I’m still a kid raising kids. I wanted kids. I wanted them that early.

    They were technically both planned.

    Why did I do that? Why did I give my kids a mother who is a kid? Who is still figuring out life? Who is still figuring out who she is?

    Am I always figuring out who I am? Will I always be figuring it out? Is that life? Changing?

    Seasons.

    No year is the same. I mean literally. Each year, the weather is not the same as the year before.

    Is that human life too? Constantly going through the seasons of life?

    Is it okay to be constantly discovering who you are? To constantly question? To never be certain?

    You ask my friends and I’m sure they’ll say ‘oh she’s caring’ or ‘she’s weird’ or ‘good music taste’ or ‘she’s chaos’ but is that really who I am?

    Or is that just who I am for others?

    Do I know myself? Will I ever know myself? Will I ever be happy with myself? Are people ever really happy with their self? Do people really love themselves or is it fake?

    I saw a quote that said ‘if you’re learning to love yourself, you already do love yourself’, or something like that. Is that true?

    Why do I still hear that mean voice?

    Are my words worthless? Is anyone listening? Does anyone see me? Do they see past the masks? The act? The smile? Do they see the brokenness? Do they see the tears before they fall? Do they see the smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes?

    Do I see me?

    Hello? Can you hear me? Are you listening?

    Help. no. don’t help. Stay away. Don’t get too close. I might break. You.

    I promise I wont. I’ll try not to.

    I’m sorry. Stay away. Don’t get too close. My pieces might break. You. 

  • Rediscovering The Emo Girl I Buried

    I listen to music. A lot of music. You will find me with headphones on 75% of the time, which doesn’t sound much but I am a mother first, so when I’m looking after my boys, I can’t wear my headphones (I wish). But honestly, even when I’m with my boys, we have music in the background most of the time. I think it quietens (is that a word? It doesn’t sound like a word) my mind, which is funny because I usually listen to songs that hurt me, where I resonate with the lyrics or the melodies make me feel something.

    Music soundtracks most of my daily tasks, I need that escape. Recently I’ve found myself listening to the ’emo’ songs and bands I listened to as a teen. Please tell me you all went through that stage too? It wasn’t full blown emo for me but I definitely listened to some deep shit for a 14-year old.

    I’ve been loving it. Rediscovering music I used to love, whilst finding new bands, new songs. I feel like this is me. These bands, these lyrics, this music.

    I think it’s my superpower honestly, I look so plain jane, neutral, boring but my headphones are blaring screamo music. Currently as I type this, I have ‘Static’ by Sleep Theory playing, what a bop. You really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, the sweetest looking thing could have the scariest things inside.

    Woah. Not going to analyse that last line or I’ll spiral and cry. No one wants me to cry. Right?

    I’m not sure what the point of me writing all this is. It’s just something I’ve noticed recently, something I’ve learned about myself – this music is who I am. I tried suppressing her for awhile, tried to fit in with the crowd for whatever silly reason teenage me decided. That’s not to say I still didn’t have these depressing songs in my playlist and listen to them in private but now I listen to them loudly and proudly.

    I even get my boys to headbang to them. Have you ever seen a toddler headbang? Cutest thing ever.

    You will find I get side-tracked a lot.

    I suppose the whole point of this is – this is a part of me I have rediscovered, pulled out of the burial plot I tried forcing her into, and it’s another step in my self-discovery journey, my self-love journey.

    It makes me happy. I hope you have something that makes you happy.

  • The Clouds Gave Me An Existential Crisis

    In September I took a train, I saw a cloud and it caused words to fall out of me, which then of course made me freak out. These are the words that left me:

    “Clouds floating by themselves, is that just what 20s are – the loneliness. Surrounded by other clouds but literally in the atmosphere by themselves. wtf. jesus.”

    Yes. Exactly like that. Anyway, I decided to revisit it a few weeks later when I wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown. Who am I kidding? I’m always on the verge of a breakdown. Yes. I am dramatic. Lets move on please. This isn’t therapy. (Or is it?)

    ANYWAY, here is what I wrote a few weeks later:

    “Today I saw a cloud in the sky. “A cloud? Wow.” I know that’s what you’re thinking. But just bear with me. It was the wispy kind, barely anything to it, followed it’s own pattern of swirls. A whisper. The others looked like cotton balls.

    It wasn’t really in the sky either. I mean it was. But not really. It almost looked like you could touch it. The other clouds looked part of the sky, this one was just there, floating freely on it’s own, almost like it was part of the air, not the sky.

    I couldn’t help but pause. It looked so out of place whilst also looking like it was exactly where it was supposed to be. I felt like that cloud. I feel like that cloud. ‘

    My twenties are hard. I don’t feel part of the collective. Part of the sky where all the other clouds are. I don’t look like the other clouds either. But that’s okay. I’m okay here. Finding my own way. We all go the same way, towards our thirties, just how clouds always go with the wind. I’m just on a different journey.”

    It’s not good writing. It’s not meant to be. Nothing here is meant to be good writing. But I needed to write that for myself, I needed that moment to pause, to reflect. It was my reminder that I’m okay where I am, even if I did have an existential crisis before.

  • The Window

    I can see in.

    I can feel everything.

    But I can’t reach you.

    I can’t help you.

    Let me help you.

    Let me carry this for you.

    Won’t you let me?

    You will let me.

    But I can’t reach you.

    I’m watching from the other side.

    Can you see me?

    Can you hear me?

    Can you feel me?

    I’m here.

    I’m always here.