You may not know

1 – I’m not overly fond of the word ‘slit’. I don’t know why, it irks me. I think it’s too close to other things.

2 –I have a slightly inverted nipple.

3 – I’m a step-aunty...it’s the only ‘aunty status’ I’m likely to get, cause James ain’t having kids any time soon.

4 – Whenever I have a pen in my hand, I always have to doodle. Stars and hearts come out the most.

5 – If I had been born a boy, I probably would’ve been called Julian.  

6 – Sometimes I envy people with babies. To have something that loves you and depends on you unconditionally.

7 – I have an account on oasis active. I use it now and then and I seem to always get the stupid people wanting to talk to me. I wrote on my profile ‘not here for just sex’ and that’s all the requests I get. I don’t know why I still use it, because I haven’t been interested in one person I’ve spoken to.

8 – I almost had another younger sibling.

9 – I know he’s old, but I fancy Billy Idol.

10 – I also like 90’s Val Kilmer...not so much 00’s Val Kilmer.

My wish isn't to mean everything to everyone but something to someone.

It’s hard to admit when you want something. Really want something. It’s easy with trivial things like “I want a drink” or “I want to go on holiday” and “I want to go to sleep”. Those sorts of wants are easy to express, easy to talk about, because those sorts of things don’t make you vulnerable. Everyone wants those things and everyone knows that you want them too.

How do you express feelings that you’ve never really had before? How do you say ‘I want this’ if you’ve never had it, never tried it, always pulled away from it or ignored it completely?

It’s easier to block it all out, keep it close to you, tight to your chest so that no one else can see it, so no one else could even think that those feelings and thoughts were there, buried deep inside of you.

Sticking to fairytales and books of what you secretly crave, secretly want and need just as much if not more than any other person. Sticking to make-believe is safe. It’s not easier, but you get used to it. You resign yourself to the fact that people are not like their novel counterparts, that there is no Mr Darcy’s out there, only lots of and Mr Wickham’s and the dreaded Mr Collins’s.

As a rule, I don’t open up about things. Not to my mum, not to my best friend, not even to myself most of the time. It’s not as hard as you might think, lying to yourself about what you’re really feeling, what you’re really wanting, needing. It’s a battle of wills and the stubborn bitch that refuses to let one chink of armour get damaged always wins.

I think I’m not...worthy. I don’t deserve to be happy like that. I don’t deserve to show myself like that to someone. I know people who’re such loving, caring, considerate people who should be happy and would make anyone they’re with happy. I don’t think I could be that to someone.

Sometimes I wonder whether I really will be that weird friend of the family who used to babysit your children, yet never had any of her own. The weird only lady who sits at home watching tv with her cats, dreaming of the days when she was younger and didn’t know that her life would turn out like this.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am.

It happens when I try to go to sleep. I don’t know why, I would have thought that being more relaxed would make it less likely to happen but I’m wrong. I can feel it as soon as I try to lie down and shut out the world. I breathe in deeply and it’s as if my lungs are infinite, no matter how much I breathe in, it is never enough and my lungs keep wanting more, pushing me to inhale and inhale. I choke on the air, because I know that it’s too much, the rest of my body knows it’s too much – but my lungs don’t care, they crave more, always more. If I called the Name of the Wind to fill my lungs, they would never be satisfied, they would be forever filling, growing, expanding never happy with what they’ve got. But I have to stop myself, shut off what my lungs are screaming for because I’m choking on all of it.

My heart is beating like a drum on the inside of my chest; I can feel it beating faster than normal, which makes me panic, causing me to give in to my lungs once more and gulp at the air, drawing in more than my body can handle. With every breath in, I choke; I cough and splutter with the amount of it trying to feed down my throat. The more I choke, the more oxygen wants to get in. I panic, my heat racing, using up the oxygen that’s coming in. But I know I can’t go on breathing like this forever. Panic has taken over and it’s hard to stop.

I have to sit up, distract myself so I’m not thinking about it, because otherwise it will just continue. It eases after a few moments and I lie back down again, trying to fall into one of my many dream worlds where dragons are real and medieval times were a lot more hygienic.

Things can creep up on you slowly, so slowly you don’t even realise its happening until it’s too late. What you thought was never-ending and unbounded  has been cut in half, you’re suddenly struggling to pull in half a breath before your lungs give out, full to bursting point and unable to hold even a smidgen of what they once craved.  

You’re stuck between limited and limitless and all of the empty air in between.