You project your words in the way you think they make sense. The only thing coming out, being a giant mess of tangled hopes and dreams, sat upon nightmares and cold, harsh reality. They'll fade, vanish, be twisted and stretched, be misunderstood, mislead and hurt. They will heal, give hope, mend, be cherished and will sink into the heart of another, leaving moments of desire along thin strands of make-believe.
Words impact.

I was 10 years old when I was taken from my mother. She'd always smoked marijuana but I grew up watching it. Before I was born she and my dad were heroin addicts. When I was about seven years old I lived with my mother and her boyfriend who beat her. I remember at night sitting in bed wishing with everything they had that they'd break up. Eventually they did. That's when things started. At first she seemed different. Not by much but she'd be more happy or more aggressive. I never thought anything of it. But it got worse. She got addicted to ice. We had no money and she beat me but the mental abuse was worse. She told me it was my fault she didn't have money. She made me feel worthless and I was so torn because I wanted her to love me. Although there was physical abuse there are no pin point situation I can remember. But I can remember things I know I'll never forget.  I remember strange men hanging around. I remember having no food. I remember seeing the syringes that have given me a now intense fear of them. I'll write what I can. It won't be nice, it won't be happy in any kind of way but I'll write it nonetheless. I can't remember anything in order, just events that I can't forget. Somethings were so bad I can't remember. I must thank the human brain for that. I'll start with school. I had no food at home and no money for lunch. I arrived late and I was left there until sometimes 6pm at night. Alone. In an area where you wouldn't want your children out in daylight. I remember being scared of going home. I never knew how my mother would be. Whether or not she'd be high or coming down. If she was high she'd wait out the front of the school smiling at me and greeting me warmly. If she wasn't; well she wouldn't be waiting for me. And if she was she'd scream at me as soon as I got in the car.  I remember having to go with her when she went looking for a hit. Being left in the car for hours before she came back out. My mother had psychosis from the drugs. If you wore any form of white clothing she'd go crazy. I learnt my lesson. I remember my grandparents giving me lunch money. When my mum asked for it and told her it was for me, she'd turn to my brother, who was 4 at the time and say "WE'RE NOT EATING TONIGHT BECAUSE YOU'RE SISTERS TOO SELFISH!!" I never denied her of it again. Because we had no food, when my mother was sick in bed because she was coming down, I'd look in the cupboards and I'd try and find anything to feed my brother and I. One night all that was left was a packet of two minute noodles. They were chicken. I remember that because my brother doesn't like chicken. I cooked them for him. Disregarded the burns I got and I gave them to him. He said he didn't want them and I had to force feed him because there was a chance it'd be days before he got another meal. I didn't have anything that night. The thing is, watching her stick a needle in her arm or having to sleep in her bed so one of her junkie friends didn't come into my room at night was normal for me. I remember when she had no money for petrol and her car was broken down. She came into the house, told me she'd fixed it and that we were going to the beach. I reluctantly said okay because I didn't have a choice. We got there and we stayed there until 7pm and it was freezing. When we got back to the car it wouldn't start.. And the thing is, I had a mobile phone with me the whole time in case of emergencies but she told me if I called my dad she wasn't coming with me. I was so scared she'd hate me so I didn't. We walked home that night. But all I can say to even begin to describe it was absolute hell. It was a three hour walk, down dark streets and through suburbs you shouldn't walk through, especially not at night. All the while getting abuse by passing cars who yelled things like slut and whore as they passed by and through things at us. I was 10 years old. But that's not what made it hell. It was hell because I walked home that night with 2 (not yet diagnosed) dislocated hips because I didn't want that woman to hate me. Another situation that I can't forget happened not long before I was taken away from her. I was staying with a girl from down the street and I walked home to check on my mum. I walked in and past the junkies who were laughing so loud and I asked where she was. They said she was in her room, and she'd gone crazy. I ran to her room and I (this is actually tremendously hard to type). I walked in and I found her trying to cut her arm off. She was saying the devil gave her that arm and she had to get rid of. Im not religious but all I could think to say was that god gave it to her and that she was meant to have it and I don't think I've ever prayed so hard. I eventually got the scissors off  her and cleaned the blood. The last thing I remember was when my dad found out a little about my mother's habit he had discovered bite marks all over my arms and he started receiving my child support so she couldn't blow it on drugs. When she found out she took it out on me. Telling me it was my fault and I locked myself in the bathroom while she tried to smash in the door. The only reason she stopped was because her friend came over. She pretended nothing was wrong. After that I was taken away and given to my father. I finally got diagnosed two dislocated hips which are normally diagnosed within the first few weeks of symptoms and pinned in place. I walked around like that for a year. My doctor told me i'd be lucky to walk again after my surgery and that I may need hip replacements at age 11. In hospital one night I was the only one in my room and it was night and my mother came to see me. I couldn't walk to leave the room all I could do was lay there. I don't think I've ever been more terrified but she acted like nothing had ever happened. Another year later she asked to see me. I agreed I would for 3 hours. I arrived and she told me we had to visit one of her friends. We did. He was a drug dealer. I waited there for an hour and told her I wanted to go. She told me to walk back home and she'd be back soon. I went inside when I got to her house and I sat on a couch opposite another one of her junkie friends for two hours. She never came and my dad picked me up. That day I told myself I'd never see her again. Within the next 6 months we got a phone call. She set her house on fire and left. No one knew if she was live or not. She was sent to jail for biting a police officer. She went into prostitution and she drove her car into a lake.  There are other things I know happened but I can't remember them. I had to write this. I had to put it in words so I don't have to carry it around anymore.

She stepped back a few paces. Staring at all the aspects in front of her, through hazy eyes. No more can she see different shades, but a world of black and white.
In front of her, a man; a frail man who sees with words, and phrases and metaphorical gestures. Searching for the grammatical errors within the human race, he says this is his duty.
Across the street she stares, in a daze, the street lights beaming on her face causing her pupils to dialate and her mind to unravel. She wants to go home, oh how she longs for it.

But home is a place she just cannot find. She says it's within her soul but her soul is far too clouded with the memories of what once was a happy childhood.
Along the footpath, she spies a boy, not yet a grown man, but on his way. This boy has thoughts and reasons, all too the same as the next but the slight differences are what he longs to explore.
His thoughts are not tainted, his heart undefined, he says his duty is to discover what he once already knew. His duty is to find himself within the next person.

She takes a step forward, into a world she does not control, nor, does she want to, she turns her head and spies a small girl. A fragile girl who's life has barely begun.
Who has, as they say, "a whole life ahead of her," but what if she didn't want to move forward, but stay where she finds herself safe?
In a world created by nothing but her imagination. She is yet to find out that this world will be ripped from her heart and the remains of her dreams is what she will strive to hold onto forever.
But she has yet to find out.

Holding the girls hand, a woman. A woman who had found out she was pregnant and had to stop her life and interrupt her dreaming.
She wasn't ready for this, not now. She didn't feel strong or stable enough to hold a life within her own.
To reach in to the depths of her everything and hand it to somebody who had put brought everything she had worked for to a hault.
But she needed a reason more than anything. She believes that her darliing was brought into this world as her saviour, as her reason.
As she holds her daughters tiny hand she feels a sense of accomplishment. A sense of well being; knowing that she put herself aside for something much more important.
But what if she had not?
This is the question that she will never be able to answer, but it does not discontent her, for so many doors have been opened for her in this world.
And for that, she is greatful.

Now, walking into darkness, this girl is more determined then she has ever been. She wants to find herself and her lost dreams.
And now she will. She will open her eyes and look for her once colourful imagination. If only she could see into the souls and hearts of others, she thought.
But if she was able, she would not find herself. She would not move forward, and how she longed to move forward.
To finally be home.
She's home.

Things you must do.

Fold 1000 paper cranes
Put a padlock on a bridge in Italy
Write to Juliet


Enjoy every moment C:

Finality.

Last night, for no reason at all, I found you in my head again. I was in his arms, you were in my head. I wanted you to go away so badly. I was over-whelmed with "what if's," I couldn't handle it anymore. I told him you found your way into my head again. I then began to sob. So many questions. Why did you leave? Why don't you love me? Why do I love you? When will I stop missing you? I told him how frustrating it is to know you're still here, but I can't have you. I thought about how it would be easier if I had that finality. If I knew there was never a possibility you'd come back; I could finally move on. Though, I suppose there's going to be a time when i'm going to have to stop waiting up for you. I just don't know when that'll be.

Can you atleast give me an answer to that, mum?

A reminder of strength.

Someone close to you might pass away, and when your head sorts through all the feelings of grief, your heart is going to tell your head, "Hey, Wait a minute.. I've felt something kind of similiar, let's retrace those moments and see what happend, maybe then she can get some closure on this. She needs something to blame this on, so she can make sense of it, or she's going to go insane.'

I was unbroken, once.

Looking up at the sky, through crystal eyes. Skin cold, face up. She was always beautiful. Tight wringlets sparkled, as if capturing the sunset. Skin cold, face up. She was always so strong. Little white dress, it was always her favourite, she wore it on any occassion. Skin cold, face up. She needed you, like winter needed summer. Her once vibrant heart, now shards of bitter resentment. Skin cold, face up. Loving you got her nowhere.
She still loves you.