I have played out my life in a dormant state for so long now, just hoping and longing that something or someone would come along and stir me to life. Then, and only then, my existence would matter. I would finally have value and purpose. But no-one ever came and nothing has ever been enough, nothing has ever been right or as it should have been.. and nothing has ever mattered, least of all me. Not the little girl who walked alone in a noisy playground, nor the seven year old they said they didn’t like. Not the quiet, uncomfortable teenager at the back of the class or the one who, after being removed from school because she had stopped eating, discovered that alcohol – whilst not completely removing the pain – at least numbed it somewhat. The lost little girl who tried and failed so many times at being a grown-up.



Being sort of dead and yet alive is a peculiar state to find yourself in. On the one hand you are cold and unfeeling, yet on the other, your utter longing to reach out and touch the beauty and joy that life can possess, makes you warm inside. You look at those other lives from the outside with your eyes, but you feel them deeply in your heart too. You long to become a part of that world, to experience things the way they do.. and you search for ways that might bring you closer to their reality and further from your own. It is a dangerous game to play – separating yourself from who you are, because there then lies a person who is just an empty shell and one which may quite possibly be sucked up and molded into something quite unrecognisable.



I have played that game, I have danced with the devil and I have stared blankly back at myself wondering what had happened to the person I once was. The person who was brought up to have morals and to believe in one love within the sanctity of marriage. The person who truly believed in and longed for that kind of lifelong partnership. The person who waited.. and waited.. and waited.. and then finally wilted and died. That girl was no longer me. No, she was but a corpse laid out on a platter that night.. and he treated her as such.

Author: halfthegirlblog

Poet, storyteller, songwriter, photographer, artist, lonely dreamer, despairing believer in God. I am trying to rebuild my life after some bad times and mental health issues.

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