Have you ever had one of those days when you think you're ok, and then WHAM!! the bus hits you?
And at that very moment, everything just falls apart.
First there was my goldfish, happy big bugger - could sit for hours just watching him go round and round in his little fishy world. And then he sick and dies.
I go to the beach just to escape the world around here, and while I'm busy hunting for pretty shells, I don't notice that i'm burning until late Wednesday night - early Thursday morning, and my skin continues to burn purple. Its painful and blistering and I can barely move, but I have to laugh about it, or else I would cry.
The Saturday just gone, a guy I used to know, killed instantly in a fatal road accident.
My head is sat in torture wondering how many "lies" someone else has told me. They said so much and yet they seem to change like the weather. I believe I need consistency and routine, not a jumbled up life.
I want to cry, but I cant cry, it feels wrong and I cant see the reason why I want to cry.
My head is tortured by the images of the abuse and my abusers, the looks on
In my head I see myself sat alone in a dark place and I know that to succeed, then I cant say anything more.
And at that very moment, everything just falls apart.
First there was my goldfish, happy big bugger - could sit for hours just watching him go round and round in his little fishy world. And then he sick and dies.
I go to the beach just to escape the world around here, and while I'm busy hunting for pretty shells, I don't notice that i'm burning until late Wednesday night - early Thursday morning, and my skin continues to burn purple. Its painful and blistering and I can barely move, but I have to laugh about it, or else I would cry.
The Saturday just gone, a guy I used to know, killed instantly in a fatal road accident.
My head is sat in torture wondering how many "lies" someone else has told me. They said so much and yet they seem to change like the weather. I believe I need consistency and routine, not a jumbled up life.
I want to cry, but I cant cry, it feels wrong and I cant see the reason why I want to cry.
My head is tortured by the images of the abuse and my abusers, the looks on
In my head I see myself sat alone in a dark place and I know that to succeed, then I cant say anything more.