I wrote about being  trapped by geography for so long. I genuinely believed I could escape my troubles by getting on an airplane and forging a new life.

I did.

I am still the same. I am still haunted by the same things. I am still a raging bulimic. I am killing myself slowly. I  haven’t healed,  I hurt less. My emotions are not as violent as they used to be but I know they are there. 

I have nights when I cry till I wrap my hands around my own body and  embrace myself. I cannot bear to look at my mum’s pictures. It breaks my heart. Talking to her on the phone. It crushes something inside of me. I can still smell her scent sometimes. I like to imagine her calm disposition. The trips we used to take, me on the passenger seat. Its still so vivid.  I carry these memories in my bones and in my heart. I carry it with me.

 I do not write as often, writing makes me tap into those dormant emotions. I can feel the helplessness in my hands. I can feel the tension, terror and confusion in my temples. I am not alone nor am I lonely. I am terrified of these avenues. I am terrified of being so broken again.



I have blocked so many scenes from the past few days. Only now is it starting to trickle in and it’s making me emotional.  My dad cried, My brother too. My mother remained close lipped, trying to be strong and I wish I had stared at her more and took her in. There is no perfect goodbye, no hug tight enough, its all like sand. I keep picturing my parents and brother standing at the lines near the check in point as I looked back to wave goodbye, the light blinding me, I could not see their faces as I made my and kept looking backwards, only saw silhouettes. The Curl of my mother’s hair, the tallness of my father, my chubby sweet sweet brother. Handing in my boarding pass, I looked back and waved goodbye till I disappeared into the unknown.


​​​I feel as though I am loosening and falling apart at the edges. I had it. Mid month, I had it. That calmness, that rage and everything inbetween. I could place my emotions and name them. Lately I have been feeling like I threw myself back into the storm and I am losing it. Whatever I had mid month, I lost it.  I recognise this feeling, it’s this lost in Siberia, stinging abandonment & helplessness that morphs into bitterness feeling. I recognise this feeling and I know it has no life but I can’t let go.

I am on the verge of great change, something big is happening in a matter of days and now is not the time to feel this way. I need to be in a place where I can celebrate and anticipate my forthcoming breakthrough and be mentally present for my family but I can’t stop fixating on him and what may be going through his mind and if he really has loosened his grip. 

He told me about his new job over there and I felt that freezing sensation under my skin again and my hands became Jittery. It’s knowing he is sowing firm roots over there, that is what sends me over the edge. It’s another nail in the he really is gone for good coffin.The sad truth and this is my confession, I would give up all the things coming my way soon if I could get to be with this man and build a home with him.

Still a thousand kilometres apart, I feel like I am losing him again and I am beginning to feel the familiar ache that comes with him and all the motions we go through. I opened a healing wound, opened up my heart and its not like I could not see through the veneer of make belief & the screaming impermanence but at that moment and those days it felt so good. To talk for hours, to share, confess. Even with the distance I sometimes felt him beside me, this other day I felt him breathing beside me but it was all just a dream. This yearning runs deep.

You receive what you return, and I felt that no matter what the circumstances at least the mutual love was there. This singularity. Suppose all of this is rationalisation, easier on the heart, holding on to the idea rather than fully accepting it for what it is. Over.


He is leaving today.

I  have not seen him in a month, we have been over for a month. I ceased the texts 4 days ago after he had been telling me that he loves me and that he cannot bear the thought of leaving without seeing me. I declined. Will I regret it? How can I trust the sincerity of his pleas. I wish the circumstances were different, however, as it stands, I have no desire or wish to see him again nor do I have regrets regarding my decision to break up. 

I am beyond broken, hurt, bitter, I still love him and I miss him. I wonder what he is doing now, what he is wearing and I get so heavy hearted but I feel embarrassed by my own unrelenting foolishness. When does the heart cease to love? To ruminate? Is there a switch to turn it all off? God! I am getting better and worse as the days progress. Waves. No progress. Cement.

I don’t know what time his flight is, is he lugging his luggage in a busy airport wearing his black coat with the oversized collar, are we still on the same soil, is he thinking of me. I ended things a month ago. Why should all this matter? It shouldn’t, but it does. I miss him. His warm breath. Our conversations. The snippets of our relationship that I cherished. 

A quietly raging cold wind is settling in the place where he is leaving. I can’t conceal this unhinging of me. My parents are concerned about the state of me. Now they wake up?? I’m so far gone

 I spend the mornings and afternoons angry at him, telling myself he is a low life and that I’m glad I left when I finally woke up. I deceive myself that I am healing and free. I binge and purge to numb the pain. At some point during the day, that wheel of destruction comes to a screeching halt and I am left with the torture of facing myself and my unrewarding reality.

6-11 pm. These are the most difficult and darkest hours of my days. The tears, the flood of emotions, the helplessness. 

It’s 6:07pm and I don’t think I can carry on. But I must. I know I wil but for how long. Something has to give.

We grow accustomed to the dark

A while has passed since I last wrote, for the most past I have been too weary to write. Recently my life has been full of friendships, meet ups, new activities and stimulating challenges. I haven’t had enough time to sit down and be still. I haven’t had enough time to feel and to think. I am unsure if I have been numb or I’ve stopped hurting… I know I haven’t but perhaps I’ve become accustomed to the dark so much so hurt has become some sort of second skin that I have to live with.

I turned 24 two weeks ago and unlike the previous years, I did not panic or cry I simply took it as is. Perhaps weakness has left my body, I do not know. I cannot explain these emotions or lack thereof.

I have been seeing a guy, it has been an emotional roller coaster to say the least. I have broken up with him more that four times, the whole relationship is marred with obstacles and a grinding halt that is certain and foreseeable. He is of a different race and religion than I am and his family would disapprove and to top that all off our whole union has been a secret and that has been wrecking havoc on my already pitiable self esteem and deadly insecurities. I do not know what to do, I break up with him and he pulls me back in with his elastic binds. He has the sweetest face I have ever seen and I am in the quicksand.

Bulimia keeps raging on and on and it is wrecking more havoc on my face, I look old and used. My skin looks and feels like elastic, I have this permanent dead eyed look in my face. My clothes are all too big so I keep rotating these few items of clothing. I am high on lethargy. This body of mine is spent, my feet seem to be saying this is it we’re done but my voracious appetite for self destruction remains unquenched.

I will make time to blog regularly like I used to, I miss how this feels. The release. I miss laying it all bare.

Letting Go


Christopher mckenney - Letting go

“Letting go”- Christopher Mckenney

The notion of letting go reverberates endlessly in my heart. I have so much to let go however, I am that type of person that clings on to every silly thing.

I am trying to let go of bulimia but the more I try to distance myself from it,  the more I seem to find dirt in my finger nails from holding on to it.  We are one, she and I, bound by some force. I needed her then because she seemed perfect, fitting perfectly into my life, my bright idea. I birthed a monster, the darkness that seeps from the cracks is my creation. I can’t carry her with me anymore, she is now significant and seeps into every aspect of my life, that nagging unbearable urge coursing through my veins.

Letting go – My hatred for my father which is a recurring topic on here, I have to let go of my hatred towards him, I despise him with everything that I am and all that I am not. He can’t seem to leave me alone which makes it worse, no amount of tea cups or painfully aggravating small talk could ever make up for all the turmoil he put us through growing up. He still exhibits the same abusive patterns, he is a bitter man who has such disrespect for women, an emotional abuser who thinks he is the victim never mind the knife in my back or the blood on his hands, it makes me physically ill.

I have a long way to go before I can rid myself of all these terrible afflictions and emotions, this toxic waste sitting on my lungs. I have become toxic myself, filled with so much negativity but I’m a hypocrite for not practising what I preach.

Letting go – Someday not today. Bit by bit until there is nothing left to hold on to. I guess.

Its been a long way down

A month has passed since I last blogged, many things have happened. I feel different, my blood flows much more furiously through my veins and my teeth still ache for the unattainable, all the emotions are teeming inside of me without restraint. I am more desperate. I cannot contain myself, my rage, my bitterness. I don’t know what to do with my hands, I feel restless.

I spent the better part of April at a fancy resort, experiencing things I could only ever dream of. I was participating in a pageant- yes a pageant. I never talk about this but I have this desire to be adored, its’s narcissistic and pathetic but its’s fuel for my soul, I need it to carry on. However in the end I opted out due to the fact that my heart wasn’t in it anymore, when the will is gone and the spirit is broken and you cannot see yourself at the finish line, the actions you take will be half arsed and I do not do half arsed, I do everything with unbridled fervour- I did not give up, I simply walked away.

It was a different experience, there were cameras all the time, a tv crew, a security team. I felt like I was part of something major and I felt my presence was felt like I made a mark. We were always on the go, always exercising, dancing, swimming etc so I had to EAT otherwise I would not have had the energy to cope, all the meals were a buffet so it was easy to eat what I felt comfortable to eat- I ate my 3 meals and l consumed copious amounts of coffee, my eating disorder wasn’t a bother, I had no time to be bulimic… no desire, thousands of kilometres away from home I had successfully managed to disengage from the familiar. The first two weeks at the resort were okay, it was only after I had decided to opt out during the third week that I started purging and I violently came undone.

Coming back home though was another story, I felt relieved the first week and then the regret set in. I was weak and dizzy from the exercises we did and I actually lost 6 kgs and my BMI has plummeted to a low of 17.6. I feel stripped of dead weight in the way I have lost inches around my hips and waist, I feel weightless, I feel like an ED warrior but for all the wrong reasons.

I have been burning in rue, a large part of me feels like I should have held on longer… suffering is always significantly less profound in hindsight, if I go back to the day I made the decision to walk away from the pageant knowing what I know now, I would still make the same decision but something inside of me keeps pounding on that door of if only.

As a result of this I have not been able to stop bingeing and purging, I want to fill the bottomless hole in my heart. I need that high though transient, I need it to feel a fraction of natural human emotion that I tragically am void of.

My sunshine is gone and the butterflies are dead and rotting inside of me, like adding salt to a gaping wound I came back to find the guy I had fallen for with a new girlfriend and I had to pretend to be happy for him, I have always been exceptional at that, pretending I do not give a flying fuck when I am in actual fact dying inside. I feel his absence, God I really do, I feel it in my core, I feel it inbetween panic ragged breaths. This man has been immortalised in my memories and heart. I try to figure out how for the past months I have managed to hold on, how I became bolder and much more open to new experiences.. to the possibility of things and all the answers point back to him. He took my soul and wiped it clean and now that he is gone the fragments of my heart are misaligned again. At least his departure wasn’t callous, he let me down gently and truthfully I knew in the end I would be one left telling the story of what never was.

Time staggers on.