Today I said goodbye to an old friend

Hi all

I’m going to share with you, my latest piece of writing.

This may be a trigger for some.

It’s raw, it’s emotional, but this was how it was.

My hopes are that this may actually help some see that we are not our past, and we can change

We have an inner strength that will pull us through, even the worst of situations

You can do it

Here goes:

Today I said goodbye to an old friend

I’m going to take you on a journey, a journey of love, hate, loyalty and friendship.

I will explore some of the darkest twisted recesses of my mind and tell you things I have only shared with a handful of people.

We all have memories of childhood friends, our beasties our crew, I know I do.

There was one friend that I had right by my side no matter what.

In my darkest moments when I was questioning my very existence, it would seem all I had to do was close my eyes and they would be there.

At night when I lay, an empty lonely soul full of betrayal, with overwhelming feelings of injustice, bewilderment, hopelessness, and angst, tears staining my cheeks, staining my pillow, my best friend was right there with me.

I’m not talking about a physical person, and I wish I could tell you that I had magical memories with them, but I can’t and I won’t.

I will however tell you of my tormented mind, hatred and self-loathing I had.

I will tell you of my rage and anger, a rage and anger so big so deep, I never thought I would ever escape.

These thoughts became my best friend, even though at the time I may not have realised it.

NOW, at first, I hated my so-called best friend that had seemingly forced its way into my life and try as I might to free myself of them I could not rid them from my mind, by now they were in control of me and all I did.

Looking back, I’m not really sure I would have known how to do this.

Over time these thoughts became my bestie, my unfaltering loyal best friend, and they were the one constant I had in life.

I clung to them, they became me, we were always together.

There was however one reprieve, one place even my bestie could not reach one place no one could penetrate with hatred or rage or anything else that I didn’t want there, that place was my imagination.

I created a  magical world, a world where I felt love and safety, a world where I was wanted.

I had so many adventures in my kingdom, I rode horses, I ran through fields without a care in the world.

I was a detective, a ghost hunter, here I could be anything I desired.

I realised I had the ability to take myself away to this magical existence anytime I wanted and that’s exactly what I did.

Times were pretty hideous as a child; I had a psychotic father who made me his whipping girl.

He spiraled into uncontrollable blind rages at any given moment.

I walked upon eggshells, waiting for the next explosion.

I felt hate fill his eyes whenever he looked upon me.

I never understood how anyone could hate someone that much.

His words tore crater sized holes through my heart and soul on a daily basis, and I wondered what had I done to make him hate me so.

I had a mother with a heart so cold, so unemotional so uncaring, I didn’t escape her wrath either.

She had a blackness about her, a rage that I bore the brunt of in the form of bamboo whippings, and the buckle end of her leather belt.

My house was like  a battle zone, like a scene from a war movie, no one was left unscathed, we were all left maimed and wounded but  all in twisted  different ways.

My father dished out his atrocities on me then my mother, who in turn dished it out to me.

I wore my father’s hatred, and then got a double dose from my mother. She knew my father hated me and I guess she blamed me for the dysfunctional state of her marriage

The hideousness didn’t just stop with them, I also bore the brunt of my brother’s insanities.

At his hands I suffered abuse of all kinds.

Everything from sexual to physical, I dreaded it when he had friends over as I became the target of their fucked-up desires and deviancies.

These were some of my darkest times, times where I felt like I was drowning in a sea of putrid swamp water,  unable to breathe, gasping drowning, trying to cling to something,  wanting someone to save me, but no one did, no one came to my rescue.

I realised pretty quickly I was alone in this world.

It was at these times that I took myself to faraway places, to the magical kingdoms I had created, it was one place I could go to escape, I knew I couldn’t remove myself physically but I knew mentally I could go anywhere.

Trouble is I wanted to stay there, oh how I wished with every fibre of my being that I could stay there,  away from my hell  that I never asked to be in, but I knew I couldn’t stay, I had to come back to reality, and this is where my steadfast loyal best friend self-hatred was waiting to greet me.

I’m going to fast forward a few years.

I escaped my hell as soon as I could seeking solace with drugs and alcohol.

Anything that would help me forget, anything to give my tortured mind a rest.

I found myself in many undesirable situations and associated with many undesirable people, always seeking acceptance and any kind of fragmented love I could find

I got involved with men who treated me badly, some may think this is a strange thing to do and I guess it was, but in a dark way it held a familiarity for me.

I was trying so hard to be loved, so hard to be good enough, I just wanted to be cared for and god forbid even hugged and held.

But all I did was seek out more abusers. These men didn’t love me, how could they? I couldn’t even love me.

I was still shackled, joined at the hip to my self-loathing and hate.

I remember thinking

If only I was prettier

If only my hair was longer

If only I was funnier

If only

If only.

How could I be loved?.

It was like I was a smashed-up puzzle with all the essential integral pieces missing, and the pieces that were there were so damaged and warped.

Some would say irreparable, but nothing is beyond repair.

I didn’t have many consistencies in my life and I took on a nomadic lifestyle, I flitted from place to place, trying to fit in, trying to find acceptance.

The one thing that remained constant was my hate of self, I could not make eye contact with people because I thought they would see, see the damage, see my darkness.

If I let anyone in, they might have seen just how fucked up I really was.

I could not allow that to happen.

Maybe in a twisted way it was me trying to take control of some aspect of my life.

Just when I thought I had gained some sort of togetherness and a handle on things my old best friend would pay me a visit, and made sure I self-sabotaged and self-destructed, it was a pattern for much of my adult life as I knew no other way.

I was so ill equipped to deal with life.

One day, and I can’t pinpoint an exact time but I realised I had to escape and rid myself of my trusty best friend, even though it was my security, I knew it had to go as it was destroying my very being.

The self-hate had taken such a strong  deep hold on my life  that I didn’t even know if I knew who the real me was.

Wasn’t even sure if I existed or if I could exist without my trusty best friend but I knew it was time.


This old friend was not going to lose the grip it had on me easily though.

I had to take a jack hammer to smash away bit by bit breaking all that tethered me to the past.

I really had to dig deep and find that inner strength I knew I had in me to finally break through the ugliness that was firmly set around my heart and soul


I embarked on a journey of self-discovery, I had to find out if I was still there.

Of course, I was, but the true me was buried deep under layer after layer of rubble and dross.

I was like an infant learning to walk and talk.

I had to learn how to except love

I had to learn I was enough

I had to learn I was worthy of kindness, joy and good things.

One thing I never had to re- learn was my ability to give love, no matter how warped that shape  was, even when I was in fragments, a bird with broken wings too damaged to fly, weirdly, I still had some kind of love in my heart.


It didn’t have control over me anymore, I finally broke free.

I set about creating a new me, a new life, I was being rebuilt piece by piece

Like a sculptor creating a work of art.

I am not a statistic

I am not my past.

it does not define me

It did not make me who I am today, I made me who I am today

And I am so, so proud of me.

I love me

I love my strength

I love the joy I have within.

I am strong

I am proud

I am love