I’ve always wondered why I seem to be a magnet for conflict and drama. Two things I hate.  I have had enough of it in my 30 years to last several lifetimes.

 

With this blog I had no intention to vent and post negative posts. In fact, I don’t find them negative. Perhaps a bit sassy but not intentionally savage.  The truth is I realised I had a lot of thoughts and feelings messing up my head and I wanted to get some sort of closure and write some of it down. Kind of like an attempt at finally letting go. I think of this more of a diary if i’m honest.

I had every intention on just being ‘mrs positivity’. The truth is, life’s been a struggle. It really has. This isn’t me declaring i’m a ‘life’s victim’.  But it’s acknowledging that it’s been pretty tough. I can say that out loud now. It’s been utterly pants at time and beyond shitty.  Yes, I will never lose sight of my blessings and privileges in life, but regardless of the heartbreaking fact that people go through so much worse, I’m allowed to acknowledge my heartache.  It’s taken me the best part of three decades to be kind to myself.

Firstly, you don’t choose what family you’re born into. Unfortunately for me I was born into a family where the level of dysfunction is immeasurable.  It’s gone beyond hurting my heart, to the point i’ve been truly disturbed and had a really difficult time realising that i’m not defined by people on my family tree.  Thankfully I’ve had good friends help shed some clarity on that. Reminding me, that’s just DNA. I don’t give a shit how many people are in your ‘team’. Most of them are honestly dickheads too. Or ignorant. Or oblivious. Or gullible. Birds of a feather and all…

I decided to cut off ties with a lot of my relatives in my early twenties. It was around the age of 16 I started to realise that I want to be nothing like some of them. The pedestal I had some people on may as well have has a bulldozer smash it. I realised ‘hang on a minute, they’re not always right. They’re actually a complete asshole and a very fucked up human being’ (or human bean as some of them think we are called. We’re not beans guys, we’re beings. I dare not correct them before as i’d get my head bitten off).

From childhood i’d been so conditioned to feel sorry for some of them. I mean from the age of 3!  Talking to professionals has helped with that. Helped me realise how absurd adults can be and how selfish not sheltering children from the BS. Thanks for that. As a small child I really loved that shit. Not.  I have mad respect for the people who shelter kids from conversations and situations their young minds are too new to the world to comprehend.  Your formative years are important. So if you experience some dark shit, unfortunately that shit affects you for life. I’m trying hard not to be angry and resentful. I’m trying equally hard to refrain from crying a lot.  What pisses me off though, is the lack of remorse. How the fuck do people look at themselves in the mirror?

 

I always thought finding a snake under my mother’s bed when I was a small child was a bad experience. It was planted there by a friend of hers who got obsessive and copied her key. He broke in with that key. I never really liked the dude. He tried too hard to be nice to me, but even as a kid I knew it was to impress my mum. My mum’s a bit of a looker and back in the day she was a complete stunner. So many men would try to get with her, but she wasn’t interested.

So, the snake. I was the one to find the snake. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was with my stuffed toy called ‘Boo’. He was a ghost my mum got me from a local toy store that had rad imported toys from the States. He’s lost an eye, but I loved him all the same. I wanted to play my care bear board game. I looked under her bed (which was messy). She had so many black and brown belts under there. I can remember exactly where I was sitting. Where Boo was. I pulled the belts out (they were pretty tangled). And Holy shit, one of the belts slivered along the carpet. I looked in shock. Then it slithered towards me. I ran down the stairs hysterical. My sister and aunt thought I was a small child who was ‘seeing things’.  Then my auntie went up at my insistence to show us there was nothing there.  I’ll never forget her scream. Then my big sister was shocked, as she too thought I’d either made it up (probably not as I was hysterical), or had just ‘thought’ i’d seen one.  The guy went on to have treatment for his severe mental health issues (as far as i’m aware). His daughter was a couple of years older than me and I adored her as a little girl. She was the girl I looked up to. She was so beautiful. The girl out of ‘A Little Princess’ is the best way I can describe her. So classy and sweet. Obviously that childhood friendship had to end. Our parents fell out. Her dad was in serious need of some intense therapy or some shit.

Kids at school didn’t believe me. I’m not going to lie, the next day when some of them came over and saw it, it was pretty satisfying after being called a liar. One thing you cannot call me is a Liar. If you call me a liar then you’re a moron. It’s pretty simple. Fat? Go wild. Emotional? Yeah you have a point. Dishonest? Fuck to the No. You’re either delusional or full of shit (or sorely misinformed). That’s one thing I pride myself on. Telling the truth. No mater how awkward or difficult or embarrassing.

We had to wait for a snake expert to come over. I’m not sure whether authorities were contacted right away.  Our next door neighbours had snakes so they knew a lot about them.  Gave us a tank and things to keep it until the snake guy came.  (I wonder if he’d mind being referred to as the ‘snake guy’.)

Family. That little word that means so much to people. It was always something I craved. But most of them, I was afraid of.  I spent my life walking on eggshells. Sometimes too  timid to even say hello. This is when I was on ‘friendly terms’ with them. When we fell out I often found an inner voice and strength to tell it how it is. But when we were on speaking terms I was constantly afraid of what I thought to be ‘ the peace’ shattering. Now I know that to be nervous around people is not conducive with Peace. It’s not healthy to hold your breath when you walk past someone wondering if they’re going to take their ‘bad day at work’ out on you or their relationship issues. To go through your head what polite greeting to use as you walk down the stairs knowing they’re sitting in the kitchen. Reading the paper, moaning about all of their problems. Sucking  up all the energy in every room they enter and lowering the tone. Thank fuck i’m nothing like that. I aim to lift people. Make them smile in the hope my presence may make their day a little brighter. I’m so glad i’m not miserable and selfish. I don’t take my shitty mood out on others and ruin their day in the process. I don’t constantly winge about financial issues.  When people moan about the fact their car is ‘shit’, I want to say, ‘Dude, I no longer have a car and haven’t had one in over 5 years’. But no, I let them rant and just hope they shut the F up soon and realise their blessings. You know, your eyesight. Access to clean water. Food on the table. Roof over your head. That sort of thing.

With the fear of even saying hello, because I knew I’d have my head bitten off, or be subjected to nastiness because they’d ‘had a bad day’, I’m not talking as a kid, I mean in my late teens. I’d go over in my head how to strike up conversation. (not sure why I ever made the effort. I was so painfully desperate for their approval…. and love).  When I got to my early 20s I realised i’d rather put a campfire out with my face than converse with a lot of them. I won’t share on here the level of grim of some of their conversations. Up until then, I felt like a failure.  Then I had an epiphany. I don’t have to associate with them. Morally I am not on the same level as them (thank goodness), and intellectually I was tired of ‘dumbing’ myself down in the fear of being called pretentious. After all, I was not allowed to be more knowledgable on anything in life than any of them.  I’m amazed my tongue is still attached to my body the amount of times I’ve had to bite it.

Someone married into the family, I need to be careful here because as usual everything I say will be twisted if they still stalk my ass and read everything I ever put out there.  I was incredibly nervous of her for a long time. She was so cruel to myself and siblings. She was young, but nasty.  She’d been through a lot in life, but that’s no excuse to pick on children. Really harsh mind games, pointing our our flaws (such as sticky out ears, crooked teeth etc…). Just not nice. In fact, she was the nicest to me of all of us, but  can remember several cruel things. Telling me at age 7 I was too old to use my mickey mouse spoon and I was no longer allowed to use it. Then sitting on the sofa in front of me eating her yoghurt with it and smirking and looking at me. Shit like that. Often worse.

So, this chick. I’ll never forget when the driver threw their cigarette out the car window. Unfortunately the lit cigarette didn’t make it to the road. It flew to the back of the car and  landed behind my back. I remember tugging on my sister and whispering ‘i’m burning’. I dared not say it loud enough for the driver and this woman to hear. Next thing my sister screamed and the cigarette had burnt a hole in the car and my lilac t shirt. I know it was an accident, completely, but the fact I was too nervous to speak up about my back stinging and having turned to see the cigarette.  I was worried I’d get blamed.  The car seat was damaged and I’d get in trouble.  I was somehow going to be the one at fault.  It was a joke in that side of the family for years. The time I whispered to my sister that I was ‘burning’. Hilarious eh? That I was timid af and a nervous wreck most of the time, wishing I was at home with my mum.  I kind of see it differently. I see a really anxious kid. But hey,  that’s self pity though right? Mustn’t ever feel sorry for ones self. Finding amusement in making me cry because I dropped a carrot on the floor and was scared i’d be told off. I get to the adults it was amusing. This was at a huge dining table with 15 or more people at it. It was also in a very grand house (basically rich people). But now I myself am an adult, I don’t think I could find making a child cry amusing. I think i’d say ‘that’s ok, don’t worry’ and try to make them realise it’s no big deal. But for them it was so  hilarious making a really shy and nervous child cry by all pointing and saying ‘YOU WHAT? YOU DROPPER A CARROT’.  Funny eh? Not really.  No wonder I hated going. That and I felt like a commoner. I didn’t have another outfit to ‘dress for dinner’. I had my blue kickers jumper and jeans, not a formal dress.  Oh man I hated going there. I spent my year 2000 new years eve at this house. It was stunning and I genuinely really like a few of the people, and I was in loved with the house, but I still hated going. I remember on December 31st 1999 being absolutely hysterical (I vomited) as I begged not to go. Rather than have any compassion for me, I just got anger. I now vow that although I will instil in my children the importance of ‘you can’t get or do everything you want all of the time’, I will respect when they are very opposed to something (unless it’s school, and even then I’d question why they were so distressed and address it). I am stubborn af as an adult sometimes.  When I was a kid I made a vow to myself that when I was old enough I would never allow anyone to force me into a social situation I did not want to be in.  I have social anxiety, but I do try not to be a recluse and challenge myself. But I do it on my terms. Agoraphobia hasn’t helped with this, but prior to being so unwell I really did try and be a social butterfly. It wasn’t really me, but I tried.

 

So laughing at your ability to make kids cry? You know what? Fuck that. It sucked.

Another thing in childhood, that is nowhere near the darkest part and not related to previous issue, but a grown man getting you in a corner and making you cry in fear, and clearly enjoying your fear was fucking awful. What a c*nt.  I hope I don’t see that guy again because I don’t think I could keep it classy. Sick, twisted f*ck.  Furthermore I hope my boyfriend doesn’t see the prick.  Gross. Just a vile human.  Thank God my children will never be around such assholes.

It sucked when the adult looking after me (when I was in my teens) and driving me would text and drive. Texting women they’d met in chat rooms. I’d ask them to not text whilst driving the long drive as it made me nervous and was dangerous. Not only to us, but to every other person on the motorway. Oh man did I get shit for that. Asking them to not break the law and give a shit about our safety.  I’m finding it difficult not to remain angry about this sort of thing. The same person who used homophobic slurs, and when I asked them not too they asked me if I was a lesbian.  Mature.

I’m pissed at how I was treated like crap for requesting that my guardian doesn’t sext with the women he found online whilst driving me on a 3 hour journey. Priorities eh?  Never once trying to converse with me.  On a three hour journey. A journey I dreaded. The same dickhead shared a post on the dangers of texting a driving in recent years. (I know, I shouldn’t have looked, but I heard there was a post about me and I caved).  What a dick. Portraying this image of yourself to world, whilst living a lie.  What a shitty way to exist. I own my faults. I speak about my mistakes.  But hey, why not just be a shitty human being, corrupt and fucked up, but present yourself as such a gentleman. I see you. I know you. And I refuse to fear you anymore. If somehow your little spy googles me again and somehow finds my blog, have fun slagging me off and convincing yourselves I need therapy. I’ve had therapy. I’m having emotional support. It’s not I that needs serious help and deep psychological analysis. I own my shit and face it. I don’t hide behind this perfect reputation. I could write a blog about all the happy things. Portray this perfect life. No, i’m real and unfortunately I need to work through all this to come out the other end. i’m not longer ashamed or embarrassed to admit to myself or others that it’s not been an easy ride. That’s it’s been messed up. I refuse to be embarrassed anymore. I’ve spent my entire life being ashamed of how ‘weird’ aspects of my life have been.

So, the low self esteem. I won’t go into where it all stems from because quite honestly, I don’t think i’ll ever share the darkest most painful parts of my childhood. My best friend said ‘you could write a screenplay for a TV show or film, but it would never be allowed to be aired’.   Not cool when depressing TV shows like Eastenders (which you couldn’t pay me to watch, not since Tiffany died, even back then I hated it as a kid) are tame compared to the shit that has gone down in real life.

So yeah, I’m not self involved like uneducated people like to say. It’s always interesting that the most self absorbed people accuse you of being self involved. Equally, the most immature ridiculous of people’s go to phrase seems to be ‘GROW UP’.  If I didn’t find such people utterly depressing… soul destroying… it would be intriguing to study them.

I’m just real. I’m finally talking about things and if anyone has a problem with that then I hope such folk, one day, self reflect and realise how damaging it is to say it’s ‘unclassy’ to speak up. Victim blamers. Bitter people. People like me don’t value your opinions anymore so don’t waste your breath.

I don’t air my dirty laundry online. My dirty laundry goes straight into the machine actually so don’t be a dickhead and don’t get it twisted.  Pain and heartache and abuse is not dirty laundry FYI. Dirty Laundry to me is pettiness. Tackiness. Not speaking out about shit you’ve endured and are exhausted of keeping a dignified silence. Airing dirty laundry is shouting across a dance floor at a wedding ‘WHERE IS MY FUCKING HANDBAG’ and then starting an argument for everyone to hear.  Speaking out in the hope that perhaps, you could inspire, even just one other damaged and lost human to seek help in dealing with their past and trauma, is not airing dirty laundry.  And to be fair, I am not the one who threw the laundry on the ground and walked all over it with my overpriced lame shoes that are covered in the dog dookie of the dogs I just gave up on. I’m not the one who word vomitted all over the laundry and made it gross. I’m not the one who hides the dusty skeletons under the sheets and makes it dirty. So how about go wash your filthy laundry.

 

Oh man, i’m definitely having outbursts. I’m usually chill (an anxious mess) but not angry. But i’m tired of crying. Sassy Stacey sometimes rears her (‘fat’) and ugly head. But at least I keep it real.

I’m not brave a lot in my life. I am terrified of heights following a bad accident when I was a kid and fell head first off of a top bunk and …I won’t go into graphic detail. Let’s just say I landed where a metal pole on a broken toy cot was sticking up. I have a gnarly scar that’s a conversation starter at hair salons so heh, not all bad! That ones hidden under my hair. I didn’t spend years with a wonky home cut fringe to try and hide that one, unlike my Harry Potter forehead scar.

I’m not brave. I admire brave people. I aspire to be like that. I feel weak a lot. I’m agoraphobic, have pretty bad OCD (Although it’s become much more manageable with CBT and the help of a pretty brilliant therapist).  I’m genuinely a bit of a p*ssy in life. Not in the sense that I can’t stand up for myself. I’ll speak to truth ‘even if my voice shakes’, or however the saying goes.  There have literally been times I’ve been sick to my stomach with the anticipation of the next vile name i’d be called or worse, but I’d still stand my ground if your’e being a cock end. But Admittedly I am the person who loves horror films, but they will play on my mind for ages after (and i’m a filmmaker!). Or I’ll be convinced that the turbulence on the plane means we’re going down in flames even though I’ve exhausted myself reading the statistics and educating myself about planes and airport security. Speaking to pilots. I’m a wimp. It’s embarrassing. I really dislike that about myself. I always expect disaster or the worst to happen. All the bad stuff that’s happened has convinced me there’s just more shit around the corner. I’ve watched ‘The Secret’ and tried to retrain my brain, but I struggle to not always expect the worst.

For the first time though, i’ve really found an inner strength and I’ve realised that I can be brave. Not in the same way adrenaline junkies and extreme sports enthusiasts are. I wish I was. I love extreme sports… as a spectator.  I don’t know if I’ll ever sky dive. I’ll never run and jump off of  a cliff into the ocean. I loved abseiling when I finally managed to get over the edge as a kid but I don’t think i’ll ever jump from a plane with a parachute. I loved climbing mount Snowden whilst at school, but i’ll never abseil down a mountain. Sky diving looks incredible, but I might take that one off of my bucket list because I honestly now feel I don’t need to achieve that in life. I’m sure it’s amazing, who knows eh? Well, people who do it know I guess.

I don’t think i’ll ever go backpacking alone to far off places like I once dreamed of. That’s not me.  I can’t be who i’m not. When I get on a plane again and get back to my love of travelling (the wanderlust has never gone away, it’s only intensified) for me, that will be a big achievement. I’m determined to go on the fear of flying course and get outside of my comfort zone again.

 

For me, bravery has taken the form of speaking about being unwell and bad memories. Learning to ignore the bellends who mocked me and teased me. Who didm’t care in the slightest about my suffering, but only cared about ridiculing me for their sick enjoyment. I’m still seeking help to deal with pretty horrific memories. The fact people would call me  a liar, well, I don’t expect integrity or honesty from disgusting humans if i’m honest. So to be expected.  What sort of adult makes a kid read out loud in front of people for amusement because the child has learning difficulties?  Not me. Not anyone I associate with nowadays. Asshole status there. Well done.

I see no shame in the word victim. There’s such a negative connotation to the word. People declare ‘I refuse to be a victim’. I’m not one of those people. I find it freeing admitting I was a victim of so much dysfunction and more. I no longer see shame in it. Some people use the word ‘survivor’.  I guess in some ways I do consider myself a survivor. In that, I truly did not think i’d be here today. I’ve been suicidal in my life too many times. Not an attempt for a ‘cry for help’, but to the point I would think for weeks about the ‘least selfish way’ to leave this world. My parents can’t afford a funeral and I’d hate them to feel they had to pay for one. I once hoped to find a way that wouldn’t traumatise anyone. I looked into assisted suicide in Switzerland to find out if it was available for people with mental illness.  I’d spend days going over how strong my religious beliefs are and do I really believe in the ‘sin’ and condemning myself to hell. I don’t believe gay people go to hell. I don’t believe God would condemn people who take their own life to hell. That’s not the sort of God i’d want to worship. But regarding me, I did question if I’d be refused into Heaven if it exists. I’m not christened so I’ve been told I won’t be allowed into Heaven. Even now as I write this I wonder if somehow the people from my past will find my blog and direct everything I say and share it with each other. The same way they watch my youtube videos and slag me off. I wonder if they know what my new home looks like and stalk my instagram page. I refuse to make it private though. I block them on every avenue and i’m sick of it. I have spikes in views. I don’t want to sound paranoid, but the pattern suggests that it’s being shared.

 

I hate to say I have enemies in life. I prefer to regard them us as ‘strangers with memories’. I don’t want enemies. The world can be grim enough as it is. The truth is though, I’ve had so much conflict in my life with so many people. It’s not fair. I despise it, but hey, that’s life. You can separate yourself from assholes and own your mistakes, but you can’t live in hiding. No matter how threatening they are.

Now i’m realising that low self esteem and lack of self love allowed me to continue associating with people who just were not nice. Simply put.  If i’d loved myself more, or had more confidence i’d not have taken the abuse for so long.

The type of friends I had growing up. On the day of GCSE results, one friend very angrily rang me and told me how angry her and her mother were that I got an ‘A’ in music. She thought she was the only one to get an ‘A’. She said ‘you said you’d get an E’. Referring to the mock exam that my teacher was shocked by my low result and asked why I wrote in instruments on the musical score during the exam that were not on the list.  ‘What list?’ was my reply. Turns out that if I had turned the ‘scrap’ piece of paper over there was a list of instruments. My dumbass assumed it was scrap paper (like you have in a maths exam) and never even picked it up. So when the time came to fill in the instruments on the very long musical score/sheet music, I did not even know there was a list to refer to and I ended up writing instruments such a ‘sitar’ that weren’t even on the list. Good one Stacey.  But hey, I got an A in the final real thing so I don’t kick myself for being a total dumbass anymore. Well, a bit of one, but at least it was just the mock exam I messed up.

The same friend who was angry at me doing well later on told me I have gross ‘yellow’ eyes. Nice. Also got pissy that I passed my theory test first time and got 34/35 … she said ‘whatever, I got 35/35/’. I wasn’t aware it was a contest, but she’s a knob because sure, she got full marks, but failed the first time so yeah. She also got annoyed I passed my driving test first time with hardly any minors.  Even as a teenager I wasn’t a bellend like that. I was genuinely happy for people I cared about’s success. Then again, there’s the key word. Cared. I cared about my friends.

Why did I continue to be friends with her? Her mother was equally spiteful. The first time I met her she referred to a girl in our year as the ‘village whore’.

We had mutual friends though. She was part of our friend group. Therefore I just dealt with it.

This is the catalyst for a bad confrontation. One day on msn (oh yes, msn) I explained that we’re not really friends but simply we have the same mutual friends. I thought, at 17, that was a mature way to acknowledge that we were not close. I was sick of the BS. I’d been shouted at by her for going to Sainsburys with another friend to do grocery shopping and not inviting her. Now I look back and laugh at how ridiculous it was, we were 18/19 at this point. So, I got the wrath of her mother. Then I exploded. Word Vomit. I lost my shit after years of BS and in the process lost self respect. Her mother was so malicious on the phone.  I remember saying ‘i’m 19 years old and even my own mother doesn’t speak to me this way’. I was still confused why my 19 year old friend put her mother on the phone. To try and lighten the mood (I was trying to be peace maker) I said ‘dude, i’m 3 months older than you. Respect your elders’.  My attempt at making her laugh didn’t go down well, it turned out I was on speakerphone and her outraged mother wanted to give me a piece (or ten) of her mind.

I lashed out and wasn’t exactly kind. I lost my cool. After all what seemed like an eternity of being spoken to like something she had stepped in, Sassy Stacey reared her ugly head. Not my proudest moment. The conflict continued. Her younger sister got involved. Again, I ignored the years of her and her friends shouting insults and giggling at my boyfriend and I as we walked down the street. It was awkward because my boyfriend’s brother and  this girl (my ex friend’s sister) were close friends. That went on the cause no end of friction between the brothers.  After more abuse, and feeling like I wasn’t allowed to forget that family, I snapped at her sister too. I saw how disgusting her behaviour was and I lowered myself to a level I am truly ashamed of. I called her the C word and let her know I wasn’t tolerating it anymore. The tipping point was her referring to my boyfriend and I as ‘fat old twats’ on my boyfriend’s brother’s Facebook page. Petty I know, Facebook. Lovely site isn’t it?

This level of insult to my boyfriend was the final straw. It was breaking my heart to see my boyfriend’s family mistreat him and condone this girl’s treatment. I wasn’t well at the time and I snapped.  Again, not something I am remotely proud of. She left me alone after that, but me snapping was far from classy. I just reached my limit.

That ex boyfriend of mine is one of my closest friends. He no longer speaks to his brother’s or parents. I honestly do not blame him.  Aged 21 he stayed around my house for a weekend and he’d get texts from them saying ‘we miss you’. It had been 48 hours. His mother went to my place of work and slagged me off to my co workers. It was a new job and highly embarrassing when they told me.   The level of snobbery was intolerable. I heard them discuss people’s jobs and laugh. They were wealthy, and put so much pressure on my boyfriend. I remember him breaking into tears in my kitchen because of how they’d treated him. I challenged him and asked why he put up with it. (He often said the same to me regarding some of my relatives).

He gave them many chances, and they’d respond by bribery. They didn’t respect him. Emotional blackmail was a favourite tactic of theirs.  I, of course, got the blame for ‘stealing’ their son away.  All I was ‘guilty’ of was telling him he deserves better and to speak to them about how he’s feeling. I won’t go on to list all of the issues, but it was suffocating.

I would ask myself why I’m always surrounded by drama and conflict. I wasn’t well and it truly was making me even more ill. I know life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but I was desperate to be away from any more necessary stress.

I became a bit of a recluse. I honestly still am. I have trust issues. The first sign of someone being nasty I cut off ties right away.  It’s as if i’m allergic to that shit.  Don’t get me wrong, there are times I am painfully agreeable because I’m scared if I speak up i’ll be in a shit storm of drama again. I hate that about myself. There are people I associate with that i’m intimidated by, even to this day, but I’m working on myself and am aiming to change that.  I’m constantly trying to remind myself that I need to love myself more and not associate with people who I don’t feel are genuine.

I know, as humans, we’re flawed. I honestly don’t think i’m expecting a lot though. Honesty, sincerity, kindness. It’s pretty simple.

I’m convinced i’d look ten years younger if I’d realised two decades ago that the best thing you can do is surround yourself with good people. Sure, in the working world you can’t always choose who you associate with. But even then you can be polite and choose not to socialise or be a punching bag for people.

I wish I loved myself more growing up. I wish I loved myself more, even now. I wish I didn’t have so much negativity to write about. I am not stuck in the past, but I am haunted by it. That’s for sure.  I wish I was one of those people where the past stays there. It’s always been so much more complex than that for me.  Sometimes bad experiences leave scars. On your mind, and your heart.

I’m the sort of person is harder on themselves than anyone could be. I try to see every situation from all angles. All perspectives. I’m the first to admit when i’ve been an insufferable dickhead. I own my mistakes. I learn from them. I grow from them. I’m always trying to understand and sympathise where others are coming from. Sometimes I need to just accept that people’s actions are inexcusable. Their stubbornness is impenetrable.  Their hearts are not open, and evidently neither are their minds.  I need to stop exhausting myself over trying to understand why people are the way they are.

Why my childhood best friend of 17 years would keep pictures of me I asked her to delete as they were so unflattering. Why she’d put me down. Why she didn’t even try to reach out or find out why I walked out of her life. I wasn’t worth the concern or effort. Why she felt it was ok to point out how awful my family were and how great hers was in comparison. Why when I needed her, and had a panic attack during a class at college, she wasn’t there for me. She was embarrassed by me and acted as if she didn’t know me.

I need to stop asking myself these questions. I cut off ties with her almost a decade ago. I’ve not thought of her often, and i’ve only bumped into her once in all of those years. I’ve only had a handful of occasions that someone we mutually know brought her up and even then I change the subject. But that alone would lead to me going over everything in my head and questioning why she was the way she was. Could I have been a better friend?   I was there within minutes when she lost a loved one. My mum had her car keys ready in her hand to drive me there, because she could tell my friend had been crying when she answered the phone. I was so protective of my best friend. When she was bullied, I turned the attention on to me and stood up to them. Only to be left alone when I was being severely bullied by the same people and I needed a witness to talk to the head teacher with me.

I need to leave the past in the past, and let it go. Let it be.

I just think so much of it was unnecessary and I always try to see the good in people.

The sad thing is, is that if you have to look that far, maybe it’s best to call it a day and move on.

Admittedly I’m damaged by so much that’s happened in my life. From infancy and even from things that occurred the past few years. I’ve had strangers I’ve never even met hurl abuse at me on social media because they were a friend of someone I used to be friends with or they knew my boyfriend and blame me for him cutting off ties with them. It turned out he barely knew the person and he didn’t want to associate with her because she was beyond spiteful. She was dating one of his friend’s brother’s.

I feel sad that i’m 31 now and still struggling in life. I’m financially the most broke i’ve ever been. I associate with less people than I ever have, yet i’m honestly the closest to genuine happiness i’ve ever been. Some aspects of my life are pretty shitty and I hate having to deal with them.  Every cloud has a silver lining though, right?

The few people I still call family, I am so close to. We have great relationships. It wasn’t always that way. Far from it growing up, but today, we are so supportive of each other and there for each other.

I have a long way to go regarding mental health aspects. Also with regards to my physical health. I’m the most unfit i’ve ever been. I used to love fitness, but in the midst of depression and anxiety I lost that. I lost focus. I got so engulfed with all of the drama (I now refer to as ‘noise’), I didn’t prioritise self care. Self love.  I’m working on that.

 

Nasty 35 year old male relatives of mine calling me ‘fatty’? It’s just noise. Maturity could still happen for them. I remain hopeful.

People who are supposed to be my friends talking shit about me? It’s just noise. Bye Felicia.

People questioning my integrity and claiming i’m dishonest?  It’s just noise. I know the truth. They even know the truth. Denial isn’t a great place to be in.

Guys from my past hitting me up and demonstrating that they’re still sleazy uncaring pricks? It’s just noise. Good luck with that. It’s not my jam.

 

So just turn up the volume when the noise gets too loud, or meditate and learn to silence your mind.

 

Be alright.

Stace x