Posted in Relationships

Why do we feel we need to sell ourselves in order to be loved?

“Hi, my name is Brian and I love traveling the world, playing soccer and hunting.”

We list our hobbies hoping for a match. We think if we have many, we are more interesting, but if we have one then we must be a master of it.

The extreme nature of trying to stand out is honestly more interesting to me than the actual connections themselves. The whole study behind the scenes of who is in it for love, sex or boredom is what keeps me engaged.

The swiping isn’t the fun bit.

The inventory of psychological trauma is.


Posted in Being Vulnerable

Pain with style

I get tattoos so I can feel my pain externally rather than internally.

And don’t say that’s what cutters do.

Because there’s no art in slicing and dicing.

There’s only a mess.

And I’m a mess already.

I don’t need a massacre in my room to prove that.

What I need is black ink on my skin as a biography of my story.

Because I want you to witness my pain in my art and see that I own my story.


Posted in Being Vulnerable

All I remember

Was you in pain

I’d wake up to the sound of him screaming at you

Then you crying and pleading

Yet staying

I remember the vomiting

The headaches

The bleeding

The fake smiling

All I remember is your pain

And then she died

And I remember the last sparkle of joy

Leave your eyes

Then I watched as the depression

consumed you

And every day I wanted to save you

Heal you

Protect you

But you were told to stay

She told you that’s what god would want

So you did

And once you made that final choice

I knew I had to separate from you

I couldn’t save you

And that broken every piece of my heart because I love you

And I want to see the joy in your eyes again

But I realize now that is not my role to play

So I could not stay.


Posted in Being Vulnerable

I share because

I don’t want to forget.

I don’t want to forget these moments when I was learning to crawl.

Because that’s what I feel I’m doing.

I’m learning how to love myself with a baby’s progress.

I’m learning how to heal my heart and it takes time.

Days upon days until they turn into years.

And I don’t want to forget this time when I first dived into my own heart.

My own pain.

Because I know myself.

One day, years from now, I’ll think I have it figured out.

I hope that day never comes

But knowing my superior egotistical self, it will.

And I hope someone points me back to here.


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?


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.


Posted in Being Vulnerable

Living with him

I was always afraid of who I would encounter, Jekyll or Hyde.

And now as an adult, I still don’t trust him or anyone.

I’m always wary.

Searching for the monsters in your closet.

I don’t believe anyone’s pure.

So show me your monsters before I find them myself.


Posted in Being Vulnerable

Death is just a new beginning

When I was in high school, I took an art class. The class was full of chaos, but one thing I remember were the skulls.

We had to sketch the skulls and I remember immediately falling in love with them.

Their dimensions
Their nakedness
Their structure.

I didn’t see them as death.

I saw them as beginnings.

Beautiful, creepy beginnings.

And my mom hated them which made me love them more. 

Like I said, rebellious weirdo.

But even now, I still love them.

Because the idea of death reminds me to live.

And don’t we need that reminder?


Posted in Being Vulnerable

Sorry, Tracy.

Being blindly kind

Will hurt you like a double edge sword.

Beware, your impatience to be kind is not actually a projection of your own ego seeking praise.

Childhood traumas sneak up on you that way.

I fucked up. I was trying to be kind to tracy and I didn’t even consider if it’s what tracy wanted.
I apologized.
And she said she wasn’t angry, but now she’s stressed and it’s my fault.
I’m a fucking idiot.

I know it’s done now.
But not in my head it’s not.
In my head I’ll beat myself up for the rest of the day.
Practicing empathy is so hard for me.
Because my dad isn’t an empathetic person.
I learned my whole life not showing empathy was the strong approach.
The right approach.
And now I’m unlearning that.
And it’s fucking hard