Mental Health

Happy One Year.

One year ago today I began my blogging adventure. I have met some incredible people through here, heard many remarkable stories of courage, and have made lifelong friends.

Thank you for welcoming my little blog with open arms, and giving me hope even on my darkest of days.

I hope, that with your assistance, we can continue to spread awareness for our Chronic, Invisible Illnesses, and grow this “little” blog into something viral. 
I could not have done what I have without YOU. I hope you continue to follow me in my journey.

Lots of love, and endless gratitude,

C xo

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STRONG Enough?

We each go through days when we tell ourselves that we are not “strong” enough.

Because society categorises us as not being “strong” enough.

As we go through our journey, we are subconsciously being attacked about our lack of strength; in ways that most of you might not even realise.

We watch television and are inundated with Gym Advertisements and the physical STRENGTH that each person possesses. Because exercise equals physical strength, and everyone automatically assumes that you are ill because you are not exercising, therefore you are not STRONG.
We use social media as self-promotion, and for product-promotion.
Here’s a line that many of you will know of, the dreaded “take this and you will feel STRONGER/better
We post photos and videos of moments that highlight our STRENGTH and happiness.
We leave Specialist’s offices feeling absolutely defeated after they use the cliché line “you just have to be STRONGER”, and one that was used on me last night “you have the STRENGTH to overcome this”.
We go home and we hear this popular line of encouragement used by our loved ones in an attempt to make us “better”. They have not experienced what we have, so they associate strength with getting better and tell us to be STRONGER. That is really their way of saying “I just wish you were better”, and that somehow if we try harder we can overcome our medical challenges.
We buy magazines, with covers of STRONG, healthy people.
Strength is marketed.
We leave Doctor’s offices being surrounded by people suffering from the common cold virus, and we subconsciously tell ourselves that we wish we just had a common cold because then we’d be STRONG enough to fight it, beat it.

And so, we go through each of our days telling ourselves that we are strong enough because of the comparison to others.

We go to bed wondering what else we could have done in an attempt to feel “better”, “stronger”.
We question ourselves; and please don’t lie, because if I can admit to doing it then I know you have too. We will sit in a slump, questioning our own body and what we have to do in order to gain this so-called-strength that everyone speaks of. We will cry, we will scream; wishing for our course of events to be different.

We pressure ourselves, because we feel pressured.

Example of Chronically Ill Brain:
Who do I speak to? Hello? Tell me.
Where do I obtain such strength to overcome my illness?
What does it mean to be strong?
Am I not strong enough?
Do I have to exercise, or exercise harder?
Do I have to eat healthier, or attend that party that I fear I will be too sick to make it for?
Do I have to gain muscle, or throw myself into a job?
Do I have to work five days a week instead of two?
Do I have to drive to that appointment, even though I feel too ill?
Do I have to step out of my wheelchair, or
not feel depressed?
Strength, strength, strength.
Why am I not strong enough to beat this?

I am here to tell you that,
I know the STRENGTH that it took to get out of bed this morning.
I know how many times you hit your alarm because your body ached.
I know the STRENGTH it took to feed your children and nappychange them this morning, and the effort it took you to have a shower this morning.
I know the STRENGTH you had when you dragged yourself to that appointment, and used all of your energy chatting to your Doctor about progress or decline.
I know the STRENGTH that it took to try and exercise today, even if that means walking to the mailbox and back.
I know the STRENGTH that it took to tell do, or say, something thoughtful to your partner, because you feared they would not know how much you were thankful for their support.
I know the STRENGTH that it took to pick yourself up off the floor after crying what felt like an ocean.
I know the STRENGTH that it took to try and swallow each tablet, multiple times a day.
I know the STRENGTH that it took to half-smile, or to laugh.

I know.

So, when you see or hear the term STRENGTH, you are to stop for a minute and take a deep breath in.

Count to five (that takes strength too).
And then I want you to tell yourself, and whoever/whatever is in front of you questioning your strength, this:

In this moment,
I am strong enough,
to make it through the next (moment).

In this moment, YOU are STRONG ENOUGH, to make it through the next moment.
That’s all you need to know. You don’t need to know how; just know that you WILL.

You may not see this strength that you possess, but it is there and I promise you it will be pulling you through the roughest of nights, the toughest of moments.
You go to sleep begging for a way out, and you wake up wondering how you made it through the night before; there it is, your strength.
You probably don’t even know that you have it, but it’s there.
I know it is, because somewhere within me, it’s there too and I have it to thank for keeping me here this long.
Strength isn’t about pushing your body to do the unthinkable, so you then have to suffer the repercussions afterwards, and it is most certainly not about beating our diseases. We can push ourselves to achieve more, but if we fail it does not mean we are not strong.
How lovely it would be to think of overcoming our illness, and maybe some of us will, but most of us can’t. We are tied to each other (illness and you, illness and me).

Sure, it would be lovely to push ourselves to achieve more.

There are things that our illness stops us from doing, and then there are things we fear doing because of our illness, but that does not mean that we are not strong enough.

It’s all well and good for people to push us to be stronger, to try harder; because most of them think that we sit at home doing nothing all day, and then the rest of them have our best intentions at heart. They just want us to be better, and there is nothing wrong with that.

But don’t let them question your strength.

Don’t let them question YOUR efforts, because I know.
I know exactly what it feels like.
I know exactly how hard you are trying.

We might not be physically strong, we might not even be mentally strong at times, and most of us will not be able to overcome our illnesses,
BUT we possess a rare type of strength that others don’t have –

Chronic Illness Strength,

and let me be the first to tell you that this type of strength is stronger than physical and mental combined.

In this moment, I am strong enough, to make it through the next.

C xo

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The Many Faces Of Chronic Illness.

Hi readers,

This is a must read.

I apologise for my recent absence.
Illness Army is incredibly popular, and I have only made time to go through each of your emails and publish your stories instead of my own.
Ihave also had a lot going on in regards to my health, a few rough flareups and became lost in my dark thoughts, symptoms and busy agenda.

Even though I have been absent on WordPress, I have not been so absent on Social Media.
I have received an influx of personal messages lately reading the following:
You are looking great lately. You must be feeling better,”
I have seen that you have been getting out more lately. You must feel fine!”

Photos begin circling of my face painted with a little bit of makeup, hair straightened, sitting in a public place and suddenly everyone remembers that I am still alive, and I am deemed as cured/better.

Firstly, I am not cured.
I don’t know how to respond to the “feeling better” statement.
I don’t know why society assumes that someone that appears to look healthy, is healthy.
If anything, I am adjusting better to my new norm.

Secondly, yes I might be out – I can assure you it was for an hour, no more.
Do you know how much strength and additional effort it takes a Chronically Ill sufferer to get up and leave the house for ‘events’?
I don’t know about you, but I personally have to be dragged out kicking and screaming. Every inch of my body aches, I am trying to hold in my wanting to vomit and the last thing I want to do is be in public being stared at because ‘the normal looking girl is walking too slow’.

I don’t know how to feel when I receive these personal messages.
Do I take it as a compliment, with pride?
Or do I take it as an insult? As people come to me after seeing a photo or a post, telling me that I look great, and then 101 question me as to why I am still not at work, why I am still in appointments, why I am still unable to drive and why I missed our lunch date.
I am continuously spoken to like they think that at the snap of my fingers I can just turn on the Health Button. It is strongly ringing in my head as an insult.

It’s always one extreme or the other.
I am either deemed well enough to run a marathon, or I must sit in my house alone all day because the symptoms are making me miserable.

There is never an inbetween.
People don’t understand that we can feel strong enough to go out some days, but still come home sick/still be sick>

Are people naive enough to think that I’m going to happily post a photo of myself when I have acne all over my face, I’ve been vomiting my organs out and I am so pale that I could be mistaken for Casper the Ghost?
Ah no, and I am certainly not going to post a Facebook status about how I contemplated killing myself four times this week, either.

I, like you, choose to only publicise my achievements; the days that are slightly more bearable than others, and the photos that make me look half-decent. Why? Because I’m human.

Forgive me if I, too, want one day where I look ‘normal’, ‘beautiful’, ‘unpained’.

Well, maybe this is the problem?
Maybe sufferers of Chronic Illness are feeling pressured to be something we are not; healthy.
Maybe this is what needs to change; I/we need to make our statements raw, and our photos as honest and natural as they can be, in order for everyone to stop and take notice of the bigger picture.

So, I have taken a ‘selfie’ every day for the past thirty days, to show you that appearances are not everything.
I am not “pretty” every day and I don’t even care.
But, mostly, I want you to see the fluctuation.
I want you to see the face behind the “makeup days”.
I want to share that there are MANY faces of Chronic Illness that aren’t often publicised.
I don’t get to pick and choose what days I am ill and unable to leave my house. I don’t get to pick and choose which events I have to cancel, or when my flareups decide to make place or for how long they last. You cannot make a solid judgement from the photos; you can only make ASSUMPTIONS.

And queue the non-sick raising their hands, asking, “but you were able to go out some days so why can’t you just push yourself to go out EVERY day?”

Some symptom days are just HARSHER than others.
The point is, I did not wake up CURED.
I felt sick the entire time, but some on some of the days the symptoms were just easier to manage than the others.

I have days where I walk down the street and you would not think that I was suffering with severe pain or nausea twenty-four hours a day… and then there are days where I look pale and pained; there are days when I run to the toilet, I can’t speak due to nausea and I’m curled up in a ball on the floor crying.

I want you to know that it is OKAY to have days where you don’t wear makeup, don’t feel like going out to see a friend, your hair looks frizzy, your skin looks like a dot-to-dot puzzle. It’s also okay to get a day where you feel well enough to get dressed up and do things, and to still come home at the end of the night being sick. It’s OKAY.

Take a look at my photos, and before you jump to drastic conclusions, assuming that I have magically overcome my illness overnight – let me tell you that I haven’t.


I’ll let you in on a little secret;
I was sick every single day in each of these photos…

But, you wouldn’t know it by looking at me.

C xo

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Illness Army: “A Thousand Victories”

I usually finish these pieces with a paragraph to tie loose ends, but this piece in particular calls for special attention.
If there is one submission that you must read – it is this one.

My dear friend and one of my first followers, Ross, has written this incredible piece discussing life AFTER illness.
Yes, I did say AFTER.
Ross has gone on to lead a very active life after suffering for years with many mysterious symptoms, and Doctors who doubted him.
Please, PLEASE read and follow him at
I guarantee there will be NO disappointments…

1 Pm and the alarm sounds. Glancing away from my keyboard I take a short breath and begin to rummage through a handful of medications, its that time of day. That time of day for the just over three thousand, four hundred and I’ve lost count dosages that keep this motor running.

I’ll give you a brief history of my life with mental illness, it will help bring this short story into context. At age 19 I was diagnosed with Manic Bipolar Disorder, year after year the list of diagnosis continued to grow. At present I am 31 Yrs old and have been diagnosed as living with; Manic Bipolar Disorder, Schizotypal Personality Disorder, Chronic Anxiety Disorder, Psychosis, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder & Clinical Depression.

From age 19 till just recently I refused to accept that there was anything the medical community could do for me. First Gen medications were brutal, often making living life harder due to the massive collection of unfavorable side effects. And despite my impressive list of diagnosis I was always considered to be of sound mind and capable of refusing medication.

So I did, out of fear.
Fear that I may lose my mind more, suffer more and my biggest fear of all; I might get better.

4 Yrs ago roughly I ate dinner at a local restaurant in Toronto, Ontario. I had no idea how much my life was about to change thanks to a miniscule dose of common yet potentially lethal bacteria. Most of you have probably experienced food poisoning before. But not what everyone has experienced is the crippling and enraging visits to clinics & hospitals as a mental health patient to be told that what your experiencing is in your head.

Over the span of 3 Months I visited my GP, emergency clinics and mental health refuge homes. I rapidly lost weight, dropping from 180 Lbs to less than 120 Lbs in weeks. The pain was unbearable, I couldn’t eat or drink. If I did it was unearthly, the sickness I’d experience. Day in and day out I sat on the floor. Laid next to the tub or draped myself over the toilet. Punishing myself for not being able to will my mind out of tearing my body apart. And then it happened. Salvation.

I found a GP willing to actually test. Perform a real, physical collection of material from my body that could be measured and deliver factual evidence that my pain and suffering was not in my head… One week later I was laying on the cool concrete floor of my basement apartment and a call came in. It was the Center for Disease Control. It was real. It was really real.

By time I was treated with wide spectrum antibiotics which wiped out any good bacteria I had left in my system. I weighed less than 100 Lbs. Every bone in my body was visible, each one jutted & poked out through the translucent skin. And the nail in the coffin, the bacteria was present in my system long enough to cross the blood brain barrier and infiltrate my mind.

I flew back to my home city Halifax, NS. I lost my mind, literally. I toyed with the idea of taking my own life. It was cyclical, a merry go round in my head. Close friends and family struggled to help me. Until one day it happened, I carefully and thoughtfully planned out how I would spend my last day. I’d end it all in a construction yard, impaled on the gauntlet of fork like rebar. It can be found arranged in pits far below the skeletal concrete structures of downtown development.

On my last day a close & lifelong friend approached me. They said something I can’t remember. Walked me to emergency and it all spilled out. I told the nurse everything, I cried and like a miracle no one made me wait. No one told me it was all in my head. They put me in an ambulance and moved me to a mental health facility.

A unit named the Mayflower became my home for 3 Months. My right to choose was revoked. I no longer had the choice of being afraid to get better or get worse. Each day my nurse would watch me with scrutiny as I took my medications. I began to gain weight, I began to regain my senses. My ability reason and my will to live became strong and unwavering.

After leaving the Mayflower I was picked up by another mental health support group known as Connections. Here I’d continue to grow. Everyday for three years I attended Connections, 8 Am to 4:30 Pm. I had a Worker, a Psychiatrist and peers. I had a plan.

Four years and bit later here I am writing to you. I work, full time. I have a career and I love my life. Is it perfect? No. Nothing ever is, but… It is what you make of it. I know that there is a bad place, it’s at the very bottom of existence. And no matter how alone a person may feel while they live in that bad place. There is a good place, a place where you can heal. A place where you can flourish. Big or small purpose exists in this place. I have seen it. And so can you.

Please don’t ever stop reaching out, no matter how many times your passed over, ignored or belittled. Reach out, ask for help, talk about what is in your head no matter how dark or scary it is. Tell people, tell the world. You’re not alone. Something better is out there.

Now it is your turn!
Check out our Submissions Guidelines Page to share your post!

Let Me Publish Your Story.

Help me, help you, and ultimately help others!

Due to an influx of new bloggers writing about their Chronic Illnesses, loneliness and the lack of guidance and support along their journey, I have created a new segment called ILLNESS ARMY.
Under this tab, I would like there to be numerous Chronic Illness categories with YOUR stories.
I want to connect you with the right people.
I want you to make friends and support each other.
I want your voices to be heard, so we can make it known that Chronic Illness of any kind is not pleasant.

I feel as though I can only support as my much as my knowledge and experience allows me to… so, I am requesting YOUR assistance.

I am in search of honest writing.
As you are writing, you must think about the person reading your post.
If they are newly diagnosed with what you have, how would you prepare them?
How can you support others?

I am looking for new, or old posts, but there are a few guidelines, so please read carefully:
Maximum 1000w per post

Posts can be copied and pasted into an email, or sent as a word document.
You can also email me a link to a pre-written post on your site if it meets the criteria.

ONE entry PER email.

Once emailed, changes to posts CANNOT be made.

Your post MUST fall into ONE major category.
(Please go and have a look at our current dropdown list under Illness Army, on our homepage. If your illness is not there, please attach the name in your email and I will add it to the list)
I understand that many of you will fit into MULTIPLE categories, but please choose ONE that best suits your submitted post, or one will be chosen for you.
I have chosen to select this way as I want sufferers to be linked to the appropriate people for support. If there is a sufferer of Gastroparesis searching for guidance, they will most likely not find it by being in the POTS section).

This MUST be filled out and emailed along with your entry:
Your Name:
Your Email:
Your Blog URL:
Title of Post:
Your Chronic Illness (for the category):
Three Sentences About Yourself or your blog:

Please do not interpret this as a sign off from me. I will still continue to write my own posts about my journey and experiences, directed at a collective audience.
As I am doing this project solo, I will aim to post two of your stories per week (if my health holds up).

If your post meets the criteria, and is chosen to be published, you will receive an email notification.

If you aren’t following me already, then please start today!
Let’s start sharing this post so we can begin uniting sufferers!

You may begin sending your entries via my CONTACT page, or alternatively at
with the subject line “ILLNESS ARMY SUBMISSION”

I am really looking forward to reading your stories.
I think this is a step in the right direction for spreading awareness about our community.

C, xo.

Will You Be My Valentine?

When it comes to Valentines Day,
you are usually one of two people:

The person who sits in a slump,
hidden from social media all day,
because you are single and you don’t want to be inundated with hundreds of Facebook posts from other people gloating about their relationships, overpriced flowers and gifts;

or you are that other person who is on Facebook gloating about your relationship, overpriced flowers and gifts.

Valentines Day is about being thankful for Love,
and spreading kindness…

I’M the person who thinks that this should be done EVERY day.

Love for your friends, family, those who have been supportive to you along your journey, and your partner…

It is also about loving yourself,


my Valentines Day gift to you today is…
one Extra Special Spoon to use on doing something that makes YOU happy,
because YOU deserve it!

Extra Spoons are rare so use it wisely!

If you are having a really awful symptom day,
and/or are spending Valentines Day alone like me;
don’t be disheartened.

Know that I am thinking of you,
and most importantly,
that you ARE loved.

C, xo


My visit to my Doctor today went a little like this…
I drove myself to my appointment up the road, and felt pretty proud of myself considering my body is being plagued by dizziness, fogginess, razorblades in my throat, a phlegmy chest, the usual stomach pain, neck-throbbing, nausea and pre-period bloating.

I notice that he has been moved to a new clinical room, and that the light bulbs are brighter (this is how you know you visit the Doctor way too much; when you start noticing the small things).

Me: “For once, I think I am normal-sick”
*insert coughing spell*

Dr S: “Yay, congratulations!”
*insert usual Doctor check*
“You have a throat infection.
More good news is that you also have a chest infection!
And here is some final good news; antibiotics is a no-go because of your Gastroparesis…”

Me: “Yay?”

I have not posted about my illness in a while, and probably because there is nothing overly exciting to tell. It is so little, I can squeeze it into dotpoints for you:
– I started an antidepressant called Mirtazapine in hope of blocking receptors to my stomach telling me I am nauseous, increasing my appetite, and blocking my pain receptors in my neck. I have been gradually increasing it for two months now, so I should see big changes soon.
– I stopped seeing the Holistic Chiro, as I noticed that the more ‘neck’ exercises he gave me/manipulation he did on my spine, the more pain and dizziness I had.
– I am seeing a Rheumatologist next week for the first time.
– I am seeing an Endocrinologist for my underactive thyroid. Yes, I am supposed to be on Thyroxine but I have cheekily stopped taking it.
– I am still doing Acupuncture with my Herbalist, and we are trying to test new vitamins out.
– I have an extension of my Government allowance until May, and a case officer is reviewing my case anytime between now and May as I fought my rejection of Disability.
– I am supposedly expected to partake in work or study of some sort, part time, midyear (if I show improvements)

The REALLY great news is that Dr S is in the process of putting my ‘mystery’ case forth to a group of very important Specialists at one of the best hospitals at Melbourne; to potentially enrol me in a very private, limited place Chronic Pain Program.
Don’t bother researching it; I tried. There is no information on it. It’s so ‘hush-hush’ that they actually search for their patients instead of having patients go to them; because naturally, they’d have multiple patients applying to be seen.

Imagine a room filled with numerous Professors and Specialists from every aspect of the Medical Field – Infectious Disease Professors, Physiotherapists, Neurologists, Rheumatologists, Gastroenterologists and Endocrinologists – and imagine these intelligent people sharing their wisdom and thoughts about the very rare patient cases.

Imagine spending time with patients one-on-one to actually understand their bodies. At least, this is how Dr S has painted the picture in my mind. No need for appointments to and from Specialists – they are all in one room, looking at YOU… in this case, possibly ME.

Okay, so it doesn’t sound so fun for me.
I will be a fish, in a tank, at a Fish Market.

But hey, if this actually happens, I could be on my way to ‘managing’ my symptoms a lot quicker than expected, and sharing my information with you.
Any progress, is good progress.

Ps, Normal-Sick still sucks more this Mystery-Sick


Remember when we first met? We finished our first conversation and you asked for my number. I looked down and said, “I have a partner”. You half smiled and replied, “Can’t you have friends?”

I do.

Remember when you crept up behind me that night, cupped my hips and pulled me directly into you? You hugged me so tight and I felt eyes, from a room full of people, burn my skin.

I do.

Remember when we ended our first phonecall, which went well past 3am? I hid my laughter in my pillow. There was a silence, then you asked me if I felt it too.

I do.

Remember when you planned a spontaneous weekend away? I said yes before you finished the sentence, and skipped joyfully all of the way to the trainstation.

I do.

Remember when you told me that you stopped using? You said that drugs didn’t leave you with the positive feeling I did.

I do.

Remember when we first had sex? I was so anxious and guilt-ridden, that I stopped midway and cried in your arms. I couldn’t look you in the eye.

I do.

Remember when you told me you loved me for the first time? I was babysitting, and almost dropped the child out of shock. I told you that you didn’t know what you were feeling.

I do.

Remember when we struggled to finish a day’s work? We were so tired from speaking every night past midnight, but we kept repeating our mistakes.

I do.

Remember when we parked the car that night, at the Vet with the faulty light? I told you that I didn’t know what I wanted. You spat the words ‘never again’ and drove me home.

I do.

Remember when I tried calling you on a blocked number? You heard my voice, said nothing, and never answered again.

I do.

Remember when you contacted me from America? We reminisced on Skype for hours. You told me you didn’t know if you’d come back home.

I do.

Remember when we saw each other at lunch that day? I could feel you watching me through your sunglasses. You smiled at me, and I in return.

I do.

Remember when I told you I had fallen ill? You told me that I was strong, and that you would stay this time to support me.

I do.

Remember when we drove to the park and laid under the stars? You asked me if I was happy, and I said no. You told me you weren’t happy too.

I do.

Remember when you drove me home that blistering hot night, and I told you that you never left my thoughts? You told me that we would happen in good time.

I do.

Remember when we shared our second-first kiss? You grabbed me from the car window, pulled me into you and left me breathless.

I do.

Remember we had our second-first time? You kissed every inch of my body, and whispered in my ear “I never want to leave”.

I do.

Remember when we held hands for the first time in public? We both said ‘I’m so happy’ on queue, and giggled childishly.

I do.

Remember when I was craving Ben & Jerry’s, and you said that it would make my stomach turn? I sulked all of the way home, and you surprised me with a tub when I hopped into bed.

I do.

Remember when I could hear noises that windy night, coming from outside? I cornered you into the wall and took up the entire bed. You still cuddled me.

I do.

Remember when we had our first argument? You told me that I’d never be good enough to meet your Mum, and then you cried in my arms apologetically.

I do.

Remember when I told you that my weak spot was my family? You said that you admired my love and protection for them.

I do.

Remember when we were in bed and I asked you what you were thinking? You said you could see yourself married to me one day. I grabbed your hand and squeezed it tight.

I do.

Remember our first public outing as a couple? You kissed me in front of our friends and kept your eyes glued to mine the entire time.

I do.

Remember when you were contemplating moving back to America? You said that the only thing stopping you was leaving your cousin behind. I cried.

I do.

Remember when you bought my Mum flowers for her birthday, and she told you that you had made her day? I told you that she loved you more than me, and you smiled.

I do.

Remember when I told you that I missed my period? You cursed and said that you weren’t ready to be a Dad, but you couldn’t live with yourself if I got rid of it.

I do.

Remember when I called you crying after the Doctor’s visit? I told you that my body had rejected it. You told me you were busy and couldn’t speak.

I do.

Remember when I got you an interview with the University? You held my chin, kissed my lips, whispering repeatedly that you were thankful for me.

I do.

Remember when you went missing for days and once you finally resurfaced, admitting that you had been using? I contacted a helpline and begged them for guidance.

I do.

Remember when you cooked for us, in my kitchen? You kissed my head and told me you wanted to move in with me.

I do.

Remember when I bought you a schoolbag to celebrate your enrolment in the New Year? You wore the bag around the house, grinning like a schoolboy.

I do.

Remember when you moved out of home? You begged me to stay the night, and that my company was the only one that you wanted.

I do.

Remember when you made me breakfast that morning? You asked me if I wanted more sausage, and I giggled as I revealed that I had already stolen some from your plate.

I do.

Remember when you told me that you didn’t feel our chemistry anymore? I laughed because I thought you were joking.

I do.

Remember when we had sex that night? I told you that I loved you, and you said nothing.

I do.

Remember when you said that you could not fall in love with me because I was a class beneath you? That I came from a family of peasants? You could hear my heart hit the floor.

I do.

Remember when you called me to say that you lost the bag I bought you? I told you it was okay; then hung up the phone and cried.

I do.

Remember when you said that I wasn’t enough anymore? That you’d eventually leave me for a girl who was prettier and smarter than I?

I do.

Remember when I accused you of using me? You told me that you weren’t thinking straight and had confused what you saw in me, with what you really wanted.

I do.

Remember when you said that we’d never be together; that you needed me to move on? I pinned you to your bed and shook my head in tears.

I do.

Remember when you said goodbye for the final time? You told me you’d always love me, but I wasn’t enough.

I do.

Remember when I begged you to reconsider? I screamed that you wouldn’t get another chance. You told me that you didn’t need one.

I do.

Remember when I cried for weeks after you stripped me of all of my love and kindness?
Remember when I put all of my weakself into you, because I feared losing you again?
Remember when I replayed your spiteful words over and over in my head like a broken record?
Remember when I looked through each of our photos, feeling sick to my stomach from memories?
Remember when you made me feel so worthless and unimportant, that I wanted to die?

No, you don’t remember,
but I do.
I remember.


I think about taking this site down at least four times a week.

I fought antidepressants for months, until I was forced into taking them.

I struggle with loneliness daily.

I haven’t had an anxiety attack in months.

I fear driving.

I always drop ice-cream on my shirt, or jeans, or mouth, or floor.

I am a horrible listener in person, as I am easily distracted.

I am a better support to others, than to myself.

I check my phone 80+ times a day.

I am in love with someone who doesn’t love me in return.

I lack in self-confidence.

I have been staring at my wall for over an hour, drawing blanks about my future posts.