Realizing how much you were manipulated, how your empathy was used by selfish narcissists against you, and how many times you haven’t been yourself because you tried to be the perfect partner or friend… It hurts. But it also means I can get out of the cycle.



Emptiness is the worst

It’s like sadness is just waiting around the next corner
Looming over my head like a guillotine
But it’s not actually there.
I just know it’s inevitable.

It’s being paralyzed and numb
It’s a longing in the heart that can never be filled.
An empty hole punched inside my chest that feels like a void.

It’s a black hole that thirsts for love and affection and yet,
once in a while,
it just exists and does nothing.

It just sits still for a moment, wondering, waiting, doubting.
Until it starts to suck out all my energy with full force again.

Leaving me even emptier

One year older

One year has passed since I’ve spent my birthday and the upcoming holidays in all-consuming sadness. I was suicidal, I was fed up with the life I led. I was lonely and I felt like I didn’t belong.

This year, I feel like I found my place. I am single now but I don’t feel so alone. I have a wonderful and supportive friend. I have my family that cares for me. And I am very grateful that I can see that now. I’ve found my place in my family. I am still the weird one, the different one. But I am proud to be just that.

I am the vegan, only black wearing, compassionate girl that loves Christmas and lights incences and casts spells, that listens to all kinds of music all day long and loves to go to the cinema. The only one in my family that studies, the one that, even though she’s been diagnosed with borderline and avoidant personality disorder, got enrolled in uni and is a trained nurse already.

I am me and I am glad that I still am

Little Things

I have a room full of things
Stuffed with useless items I won’t ever need
Yet between all these things I feel lost

Who is this person owning this?
Who is the person clinging to it?

What is me and what is who I am supposed to be? What is who I want to be?

But most importantly, what is left of me without these things?

I hate them
I love them

They are not mine
They are all that I am

Most the time, I feel like I don’t exist at all…

To be me

Sometimes I wish I would be normal
Sometimes I wish I could be ignorant
To all this pain and suffering in the world

But then I remember that I wouldn’t be me at all

To be me is melancholic
To be me is painful
To be me is shameful
To be me is sad
To be me is despairing
To be me is literate
To be me is intelligent
To be me is compassionate

Me is catastrophically melancholically beautiful