Posted in Being Vulnerable

I’m angry

Because I feel like you ripped my dreams away

I liked dreaming of you

But now every time I do

All I see is darkness

Because there is no you anymore

There is only pain

Gut wrenching

Unimaginable pain

And I can’t see straight

Because all I want to do is die in this pain

And curse the world for your past existence

But who would know this

Except I

Because I hide you in plain sight.

Posted in Living in Australia

Triggered by religion

I think religion has been a tough topic for me since moving to Sydney.

Something has ripped open inside of me and I feel angry now whenever I even hear the words God or Jesus.

And I actually use to go to church.

Like recently, like right up until I moved to Australia 4 years ago recent.

Because I grew up Christian.

Christianity actually runs in our blood.

My parents went to private Christian schools growing up, so I did too.

And I did all the stereotypical Christian things.

I was baptised in front of my family.

I was in the choir.

I went to all the Christian summer camps.

I memorised the Bible.

I even waited to have sex until I went to university because I didn’t want to go to hell in high school.

But then I went to a public university where religion was suddenly not a requirement and my whole world changed.

No, I didn’t go crazy and party my ass off.

I actually was very studious/introverted and worked 2 jobs so I didn’t have time to party.

But I did sleep around quite a bit.

And it was fun.

I learned alot.

And surprise surprise I didn’t go to hell.

Yet, even throughout my years at uni I still went to church.

I think I kept going because I felt safe there during the worship portion.

All of us singing together, being one.

It was the pure bumble bee colony vibe of it that kept me coming.

I think.

But now that I’ve had some distance from it, I don’t feel that love for it any more.

I feel anger.

Because I think I’ve realised I was brain washed and shamed by hypocrites for so many years and it’s just now hit me.

I was controlled and manipulated to believe that I was born a bad person.

And that I needed saving.

And that my instincts to have sex were wrong.

And now that I’m free from all of those beliefs, I feel angry because all that guilt and shame was such a fucking waste of time.

And I’m pissed at myself for going along with it for so many years.

I literally questioned nothing.

I was a fucking sheep.

And so yeah Jesus Christ pisses me off.

Because he and all his followers told me I was a slut growing up, when really I was just a normal person with a normal libido.

And don’t even get me started on all the other misogynistic beliefs in the Bible.

Because fuck that.

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.

-B.

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.

-B.

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.

-B.

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.

-B.

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.