Posted in Being Vulnerable

Your inner you

Sometimes I feel you don’t even see me

You walk around with your nose to the ground busy on the grind when I’m screaming at you to look up.

See me

Love me

But all you want is to avoid me

So I create pain

Small cuts at first

But you seem so use to this

That I’ve had to dig deeper

Hurt bigger

And when it stings just enough

That’s when you see me

You look up from the fog of your own bullshit just long enough to witness me in your eyes one more time

But then you cough and choke down the tears as if it’s a muscle memory

And I disappear

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Turning my shit into gold

Last year when covid hit Australia, I was scared.

Very very scared.

I was watching people die in China on these horrible videos and I didn’t know what to make of it.

I was panicking.

Then my dream job came to an end.

Because my company was also panicking.

They needed to show profits.

I get it.

So I lost my job.

And then lockdown hit.

So I was isolated and jobless.

I’m sure you can imagine what kind of thoughts this sensitive, anxious, over thinker had.

It wasn’t good.

I lost my shit.

I became very depressed and anxious.

More than normal.

I was lethargic, moody, challenging random social norms in my head and trying to find my purpose in life.

I was in a shit sandwich.

And you know who pulled me out of it?

Mathis!

My dream father figure reached out to me in one of my darkest times and asked if I wanted to help him in the lumber yard.

He then spoke with me about my childhood trauma I was reliving and told me how one day I would see my shit turn into gold.

I honestly didn’t believe him.

But here I am a year later and I’m actually seeing it.

I’m seeing my self care practices paying off.

I’m seeing my purpose in a whole new light now.

My purpose is to bring awareness to mental ill health through my writing.

And I’m doing that now.

And I’m doing it well.

And I’m proud of myself for the work I’ve put in and the shame I’ve overcome so far.

I’m really proud of myself guys.

Because this brain of mine is hard to live with some days, but it’s worth it.

Because if I save just one life from feeling alone, I know I’ll have fulfilled my purpose.

-B.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

It’s not real

When I was a kid, my anxiety was managed through control.
I controlled my room, my performance at school, my hair, and eventually my body.
I believed the more structure I had in my life, the less uncertainty I had to face.
And it worked for a while, except if I lost my spelling book for example, I would have a full blown melt down.
I would become out of control with fear and stress that if I didn’t find my book I would fail my spelling test.
Yes, my friends, I was growing up to become a class A perfectionist.

As many of you know, perfection doesn’t exist. But in my dad’s mind, it did.
So I tried to be perfect. Again and again I studied and got good marks, but this didn’t improve my self worth.
Every validation I sought for was matched with “you could do better” or “your sister did better than you in this subject”.

And part of me believes he had good intentions. He wanted us not to settle for sub par. He wanted us to reach our full potential. And maybe that’s true, or maybe he felt so insecure of not reaching his own potential in life that he had to live vicariously through us.

I’m not sure. I’m not a parent.

All I know is this:

The idea of perfection will hold you back in life because

It makes you hyper critical.
It makes you less creative.
It makes you constantly compare yourself to others.
It makes you desperate for affirmation that “you’re enough”.

And it doesn’t exist.
Perfect is not real.

-B.

Posted in My Poetry

2 am thoughts

I woke up to the flame

The fire dancing between your fingers

You giggled as I stared

Scared you would burn

But you never did

You and him

Always knew how to play between the lines

How to push boundaries

Face fears

You both laughed in the face of danger

Ha

Ha

Ha

But I never did

Instead, I was your Zazu.

Scared of getting caught

Scared of getting burned

I toed the line

Until one day the line burred

And I became the flame